Of Anbor And Azruphel
by gamil-zirak
Summary: This is a tale of romance between a wild man of Middle-earth and a lady of Numenor. It's told with the epic backdrop of the final 2 years of Numenor's existence. I really hope many of you will read it and enjoy it.
1. The Rothgimil

**OF ANBOR AND AZRÛPHEL**

**Chapter One...  
><strong>**"The Rôthgimil"**

The vast unclouded sky's black canvas had set before it a veil of twinkling stars, whose shining light caressed the sea's calm waters. The lowly waves rolled lazily atop each other, glistening in the silvery tint of the starry heavens. The endless sighing of the contented sea rose and fell in the arms of a warm easterly breeze that swept over its shimmering surface. Yet the serene maritime setting was disturbed by a hulking shadow that cut through the peaceful water, riling it to a streaming foam at the bow. Bright lanterns of yellow flame hung upon the ship's tall masts, and their radiance shone upon a still and peaceful deck. The helmsman was nodding at the wheel, and the watch was half dozing. The breeze hardly filled the sails and the creek of the rigging was muted to a gentle slap, like the quiet rocking of a cradle.

Two figures stood upon the deck, and both their faces were turned to the night sky. One had an arm raised, pointing to the stars.  
>"See there lady Azrûphel! That is Alcarinque "The Glorious", ever bright in the night sky. And that cluster of stars over there, is Anarrima. And glowing like a jewel of fire is red Borgil, and the other star who shines alike is red Carnil. And so we see silver Elemmire and her kin, blue Luinil and silver Nenar. Lumbar also shines dimly over there. And so we come to blue Helluin, who resides at the foot of those stars that make up Menelvagor, the swordsman of the sky. See how his magnificent belt shines! And yonder, above Menelvagor and Borgil, are the "Netted Stars" of Remmirath. And look at the star eagle that is Soronume, and our sky friend Telumendil. And can you see those seven bright stars over there? That is Valacirca, "The Sickle of the Valar". And lastly, there is Wilwarin, flying high with her starry wings."<p>

Azrûphel's grey eyes took in Varda's ancient labour with the same innocent wonder and delight of the newly awakened elves of Cuivienen, for whom the starry gifts were made. They had always held an unearthly beauty, yet never had their names been told to her, and neither had she seen them from the vast reflective setting of the open sea, that gave their lofty beauty a sharper resonance to the yearning heart.

"Am I being foolish Balkazîr?" she asked with eyes still gazing skyward. "These are the very stars that I have known in all the days of my life. And yet they seem different to me now, as if what I had long taken to be fair milky opals, buttoned onto a dark canvas, were suddenly revealed to be sparkling iridescent diamonds, set upon a vast landscape of black velvet! Their grand beauty now pierces my heart. How can this be?"

Balkazîr laughed. "You have had but a taste of the enamouring power of the sea," he said. "The land-lovers speak ill of it, and name it the _sailors vice_. But we mariners call it the _sea-longing_. When it takes you, your heart is awakened to the real beauty of the open water; the starry nights and the fiery dawns. The salt tinged airs and the sparkling waves of a clear noon. The boundless freedom and the memorable adventure. We sailors would even view the raging storms to be our necessary adversaries within that beauty, that are not to be feared but challenged, to prove our hardihood as unequalled mariners who would conquer the sea's vast watery-scape."

Azrûphel was moved by his words, however, they saddened her. "And yet I am a woman of Yôzâyan," she said, "who can never become one of the seafaring folk. Vain is the sea-longing that has arisen in me."

"Perhaps," said Balkazîr. "Yet I am comforted that you would understand our seaward love the better. For ever in Anadûnê's history have our women been the chief foes to the sailors love of the sea, heeding not our _passion_ and _purpose_. For to my endless delight, I have tread the sea's rolling pathways for over one hundred years, only to return home to the accusing sermons of my wife. But the sea is not my mistress as she claims, but a fair realm where I would dwell for a season. For the hard stony ground of Anadûnê would wound my feet, and I would scarce lay still in a bed or hold myself upon a horse, if I am parted long from the water. Would it that all the sailors wives had your newfound understanding, happier indeed would be our wedded lives."

Azrûphel looked at him for a moment and a slow smile lightened her face. "And the glory of Yôzâyan would be diminished had it not men such as yourself, to sail to distant lands and extend her power."

Balkazîr mirrored her smile. "Well said my lady. That is surely a most important point of which our wives do not see. For that is ultimately our _purpose_, as not a lady in all of Anadûnê could live with the niceties that are her due, without the seafaring men who would bring back home the riches from distant lands."

Azrûphel turned again to the sky, thinking now of their destination. This voyage was her first away from Númenor, and she could hardly contain her excitement. From the journey's start she had acquainted herself with the ship's crew, mingling with the sailors and listening with fascination to their many tales of adventure. And so she had befriended Balkazîr who was the ship's boatswain, and had sat with him for many days and nights, listening to his shiplore. It had been a most pleasant voyage, and it saddened her to know they were near its end.

"So, the morrow shall finally bring us to our destination?" she asked, a little wistfully.

"Indeed my lady," Balkazîr replied. "Fifty days journey it is from Rómenna. Thus tomorrow, at dawn, shall you see the hills of Middle-earth in the fiery distance, set before the prow."

They both fell silent, with the lofty stars before their eyes and the lowly swishing of breaking foam in their ears. The Númenorean ship effortlessly made its way eastward, gliding smoothly through the soft waves. Of its three sturdy masts that pierced the sea airs, only the mainsail was in use. Its golden spread beat in rhythm to the gentle thrust of the warm easterly breeze that set a widening arc of wavy disturbance in the ship's wake. Astern, and displayed upon the ship's escutcheon, was its name written in gold, _"Rôthgimil"_ the Sea-Star. She was a cargo ship, used to transport the goods and produce of her owner, who was a lord of note among the Númenorean settlements that lay to the north of Umbar.

Azulzîr was his name, who had left Númenor some ten years before to further his wealth in the hinterlands of Middle-earth. In Númenor, he was held to be of some importance by virtue of his noble birth, being of a wealthy family that was historically aligned to the faction of the King's Men. But the grim affiliation he had inherited through birth, was not complimented by his mood. For he had a kindly streak that moved him more to pity and understanding than to ready disdain and the forcefulness of will. Therefore the deeds of his peers filled him with sorrow, and he was greatly disturbed by the unwholesome change in the land, that Sauron, the High Priest of Melkor had instigated.

For years he tried to balance his views, quietly giving his support to the king and his decrees to save face, and yet secretly showing leniency and understanding to the Faithful and those of like thought. But at the burning of Nimloth, the White Tree of the Kings, and the open worship of the Dark and of Melkor its Lord, a dread fell upon him. Yet he did not have the courage to join with the people of the Faithful, whose beliefs he adhered to in heart, for fear of the persecution he would have endured. Therefore to protect his family as well as himself, he sought to begin anew, elsewhere, and away from the spying and dark courtly intrigues of the day.

He thereafter set himself up in Middle-earth as many a lord did in those days. Yet his wife, who had always been a true supporter of the King's Men, would not give up her life in Númenor. Therefore, for the sake of his wife's livelihood, and the maintaining of their lofty position in Númenorean society, Azulzîr was forced to remain aligned with the King's Men. But life seemed far better to him in Middle-earth as he was master of all he surveyed in his estate, without the prying eyes and accusing whispers of Sauron's spies. And though he became known as a moderate King's Man by the neighbouring lords, he got on well enough with most of them, and was therefore content. Wide plantations he had and plenty of livestock, which generated much wealth for himself, his family and for Númenor.

"Balkazîr," said Azrûphel, breaking the silence between them.

"Yes my lady?" he answered.

"There is a star that you did not mention, and yet it is one that even the _'land-lovers'_ would know of."

"Ah yes, you speak of Gil-Estel, the Star of High Hope, which is Earendil, our great forefather of old."

"Indeed, though in my youth I was taught to call it Rothinzil, the Foam-Flower of the sky."

Balkazîr looked to the starlighted heavens and sighed. "Gil-Estel is most seen at sunrise and sunset as the Morning and Evening Star. But we have long past the hour of twilight, and he is now very faint."

He pointed to a spot and Azrûphel could see a dim star that radiated a weak flickering silver light. "But that star labours to shine," she observed. "Surely it cannot be the mighty Rothinzil, as I have heard that even late at night his radiance would vie with that of the moon itself."

"And so it used to be years ago," said Balkazîr sadly. "Yet with the coming of Zigûr, the High Priest of Mulkhêr, and the slaying of Nimloth the White Tree, Gil-Estel began to fade. Few who dwell on land noticed this at first, but we mariners observed the strange change at once. And as the years pass Earendil has grown fainter still, so that even at dawn and at dusk when he was at his brightest, he shines even as you see him now, flickering cold and faint as if he sails Vingilot further away from us, shunning his descendants at last." Balkazîr bowed his head and sighed.

Azrûphel looked at him, a little perturbed. "But why would Earendil shun the people of Yôzâyan now?" she asked. "The might of Ar-Pharazôn and our people is such that the world has never seen. Are we not unmatched in power, wealth and stature? What forefather would not be proud of such glorious descendants!"

Balkazîr raised his head and looked long into her grey eyes as if attempting to read what lay in her heart. His lips formed a silent word but he thought better of it, and instead, just nodded his head. "What forefather indeed," he finally said.

But Azrûphel looked upon him with a sharp eye as she read something in his hesitation. "If there is more you would say to me boatswain, I would hear it," she said.

"And what more would you have me say on this matter my lady?" he asked.

"I would have you speak your mind," she replied.

"Ah, and yet the days have become perilous for one to speak with a loose tongue?" he countered.

"Perhaps, but only for those who would have questionable attitudes as to the purposes of our great realm," she returned.

"And do you think I am one of those of whom you speak?" asked the boatswain.

"I do not know," she replied. "Yet it is not lost upon me that you named the stars in the tongue of elves, our purported enemies. And you failed even to name the Star of Earendil by its Adûnaim title."

"Of that I am guilty," Balkazîr replied, "yet my reasons for doing so are simple. For to a true mariner our relationship with the stars is most personal and intimate. You yourself felt that strange connection. They are our _shining guides_ and our _comfort_, never ceasing in their lofty duty to pave our watery pathways as eternal beacons. And so I would honour their immortal glory in addressing them by the names they were first given.  
>For the tides of time may change all upon the earth. Ancient lands may fall and new ones rise. Vast realms with all their numerous peoples and grand policies may thrive and yet fall to decay. The weathers of the world may cloud over, and the very airs should darken in the sweeping winds of raging storms. Yet the stars would endlessly shine above all the turmoil of the world, and remain consistent in their unequalled beauty and serene peace. What sailor, even those of the King's Men of Anadûnê, would fail to honour their original titles as a matter of <em>grateful reverence<em> to their creation, and unceasing service that they render to us upon the high seas."

Azrûphel stared at him with wide eyes and shook her head. "You surprise me Balkazîr, as I did not know that sailors were poets in disguise."

The boatswain laughed. "That, we are not," he replied. "For never will you find a more rowdy group of men who would speak in the most colourful of tongues that would cause a lady to blush. Yet we would find our _'poets'_ voice in matters that touch us near. Our innocent love and passion for the sea and all its wonders would surely reveal this."

"Then let me reveal something of myself also," said Azrûphel. "For I did not mean to accuse you of anything untoward. These are strange times for our people, and beneath our proud and noble exterior lies much confusion and doubt. Our people and beliefs are divided, yet I am neither for one or the other. I believe in understanding minds and purposes rather than in the forceful dominion over them. I love my country and am loyal to the king, yet _I will not_ shut my mind to all that is not regarded as the legitimate policy of Yôzâyan. You have nothing to fear from me."

Balkazîr studied her for a moment, seeing that what he thought he read in her was now vindicated. A slow smile rose. "May I be so bold as to say that you remind me of your father."

"Then you are mistaken," replied Azrûphel with a raised brow. "For all who have seen my mother know that I went with her."

"In looks that is true," said Balkazîr. "Yet in all else you are truly the daughter of Azulzîr."

Azrûphel laughed beautifully, and turned again to the stars. Balkazîr gazed at her, smiling broadly. "And that is something," he said under his breath.

They heard a door close and saw an approach from the fore of the ship. As the shadowy figure drew nearer, it passed under the starlight and was revealed to them. A fair young woman she was, of long brown hair and slight frame.

"Have you come to admire the stars Adûninzil?" said Azrûphel. "They are most beautiful this night." She held out her hand. "Come, I have just learnt their names and would tell them to you."

Adûninzil curtsied before her lady and bowed to the boatswain. "You have my thanks, my lady," she said. "Yet our stargazing must wait as I was sent for you."

"Ah! My mother," said Azrûphel to the darkening of her face. "She would keep me cooped up like some captive thing, denying me the sights, pleasures and companionships of the voyage. Must I..."

"Forgive the interruption my lady," said Balkazîr. "Yet your mother is right as the hour is late and I would have us all go to our belated rest."

Azrûphel's protest died upon her lips, and she gave a long sigh and soft nod. "Very well master boatswain," she said. "I shall retire. And I thank you for your most interesting insights this fair night. It has been most pleasurable."

Balkazîr smiled. "As it has been for me, my lady," he replied. "And though you are made to retire earlier than you would like, it might be a good thing as I would have you awaken before the dawn, and meet me here upon the deck. A most welcome treat shall await you."  
>At that, Azrûphel's face lit up, but Balkazîr raised a halting hand as she thought to ask for more as to his words. "Sleep now and rise early, then all will be revealed."<p>

He bowed then to the two women and turned away, hailing the helmsman as he moved to the stern. Azrûphel watched his retreating shadowed form for a moment before she turned towards the bow and made her way to her quarters with Adûninzil at her side. She opened the cabin door and was greeted by what she felt was a misplaced opulence that made her wince whenever she entered.

A spacious bed took to the centre and was flanked by an oaken dresser of ornamental design with a large shapely mirror placed on top of it, and a small stool of leather seating that was stood in front of it. A nightstand was tucked into one corner and an intricately carved walnut wardrobe of cumbrous form, was backed against the wall at the other end. All these stood upon the twisted tufts of a carpet of exquisite make. Sweetly scented candles upon the dresser lit the room, giving a warm colour to the silk-covered skins that hinted at the luxury of bedded wealth. The bedstead, carved of marvellous design, was covered by hangings of silk, draping velvet and flowing golden cloth which were lined with fur and richly embroidered.

Upon the bed sat a woman who complemented the room well. She was dark haired and very fair of face, yet her grey eyes held a sharpness that rumoured a coldness of mood, and the pout of her lips and her imperious posture spoke of a stern and proud woman. She wore rich garments that fit her well, and bore silver jewellery that glistened about her neck and slender arms. A maiden also was there, kneeling upon the bed and braiding her lady's long dark hair with gold. The woman looked up to Azrûphel and Adûninzil's entry, and her piercing eyes hardened.

"Where did you find her?" she asked.

Adûninzil made as if to answer, but Azrûphel spoke for herself. "She found me admiring the stars as I took in the night airs."

"And you were in the rowdy company of those sailors, I deem," said the lady.

"I would not stand alone with friends nearby."

"Friends!" the lady exclaimed, and her expression soured, as if something unsavoury had touched her lips. "The daughter of Narûphel shall not have the uncouth sailors for friends! How I wish this dreary voyage would end, and we could leave this taxing ship."

"When will you stop mother!" said Azrûphel with exasperation.

"When you cease to defy me!" came the curt answer. "Will you never understand your place as a lady of good breeding?"

"And what does that mean?" came the heated reply. "To seal myself in this stifling wooden cell with its sickeningly sweetened scents and sullen company!" Narûphel's eyes narrowed, but Azrûphel ignored their warning. "Or would you have me sweep regally onto the deck for an hour or two each day with the airs and graces of a pompous queen, spouting haughty comments on the filth of the ship and its crew with an upturned nose that would shoo away all who came under its flaring snout!"

Adûninzil and Urîphêr, the girl who knelt upon the bed, attempted to choke back their rising laughter.

Narûphel shot them a venomous glance. "Get out, the both of you!" she said after a poisonous pause. "I have the insolence of one churlish girl to deal with and I shan't have two more!"

Urîphêr rose swiftly and went to Adûninzil's side. They both curtsied to their lady and turned to Azrûphel who took them into her arms and kissed each of their brows. "Rest easy," she said as they exited the cabin for their own.

"_Rest easy?_" said Narûphel with bitterness, as she watched the door close. "I should punish them both for their impertinence." She looked up to her daughter with annoyance. "And you too!"

"Oh come mother," said Azrûphel as she came forward and knelt, laying her head upon her mother's lap. "I am sorry for the insult, but I cannot be caged like an imprisoned bird or brought to heel like an obedient hound. I am just not made that way."

Narûphel sighed, gently stroking her daughter's long dark locks. "There has always been a defiance in you that would gainsay all sense of authority. It was endearing in your youth, but you are a maiden no longer. You must do away with such childishness and behave like the lady you are!"

Azrûphel raised her head to look at her mother with a little hurt, but she received a cold stare in return. "I am truly sorry," she said remorsefully and lowered her sad eyes, but her mother put a hand to her daughter's chin and raised her face to reconnect their gaze. Azrûphel saw the chill in her mother's eyes fade to a rising warmth, and a soothing smile rose to placate her.

"Perhaps I will forgive you," said Narûphel. "After all, if any should be blamed for that confounded trait in you, it should be me."

Azrûphel smiled. "I know," she said. "Father has told me many tales of when you were my age."

Narûphel sighed, looking upwards in thought. "Yes," she said, recalling old memories. "I was a spirited girl then, being strong, proud, fearless and beholden to no-one."

"And is that not how the women of Yôzâyan should be, to complement their _mighty men_?" asked Azrûphel, with mischief.

Narûphel looked down at her with a brow raised. "Now you are trying to be clever."

"Another trait I no doubt received from you," said Azrûphel as she got up and knelt upon the bed. There she took to her mother's hair, continuing to braid from where Urîphêr had left it.

The mirror sat in front of them, reflecting their combined beauty with sculptured clarity. Narûphel studied her daughter's features. The oval shape of her face; the slender brows; the sharp grey eyes; the soft nose; and the delicate lips; all of which were formed into a youthful copy of herself. Her own beauty had and still turned many a lords head, and she was proud that her daughter had inherited and even bettered her sightly looks. Yet for all the talk of her daughter inheriting her mother's independent nature, Narûphel knew that Azrûphel ultimately went with her father in mood. Her strength was tempered with gentleness and her pride with genuine humility. She was indeed fearless, and sought to see the good in all she came across. And though Narûphel constantly berated Azrûphel on her boundlessly open attitude that would be frowned upon by their peers, she secretly looked upon her daughter with pride and even envy, seeing in her what she had lost in herself as she sought to hold her own and conform with the Númenorean ways of the day.

And could she be blamed for that? After being abandoned by Azulzîr, who did not have the courage and conviction to stand tall with his people in their time of glory! No, he had fled, leaving her to hold together what he had left behind; the sprawling manor in Armenelos, the vast plantations in Andustar and the rolling pastures in Emerië, all of which Azulzîr had inherited, and were the source of their great wealth. They had been left in Narûphel's care for the past ten years, yet she had managed them well, even after Azulzîr had enticed their son Abrazân away from her; a deed which still pained her heart.

Nevertheless, she had weathered all the difficulties that came her way, alone. The prejudices towards a lady in a man's world of trade; the mean-spirited whispers of gossiping ladies; the suspicious eyes and searching questions of Númenor's spies; and the lingering gaze and lecherous banter of suitors who would prey upon unaccompanied wives. She had stood her ground against all these trials with the obstinacy of an immovable rock that the towering waves would crash upon and dash their swelling waters into a thousand harmless droplets. _That_ was how her strength, her pride and her fearlessness were put to use!

Still, she did not wish for her daughter to be altered as she had been. Azrûphel's innocent hope and welcoming nature she must keep, then at least her sacrifices would not be in vain. And she had sacrificed much, through certain deeds of which she would not willingly tell. Yet the order of the day in Númenor brought forth many strange tales of the practises of their new religion. The worship of the Dark and of Melkor its lord!

"Mother, why do you shudder?" asked Azrûphel, upon noticing her sudden trembling. "No chill enters the cabin as it is a warm breeze that sets the Rôthgimil on her course."

"It is nothing," replied Narûphel, breaking free of her troubled thoughts. She swept a warding arm to her daughter's braiding hands and swiftly stood. "It is time to sleep."

Azrûphel looked at her agitated mother with concern. "What troub..."

"Heedless child! Must you always question me?"

Her mother's vehemence startled Azrûphel, but she quietly rose and they both prepared to sleep in silence. Narûphel blew out the candles and lay down by her daughter's side. The creaking lullaby of the ship's rigging wafted into the cabin, and the gentle rocking of the boat sought to invite the warm embrace of sleep.

Azrûphel's voice sounded in the dark. "Rest easy mother."

Narûphel opened her eyes and smiled. It was a phrase that only Azulzîr had used to see his children to bed. She thought of him then, conjuring kindly memories of their union. Her voice then came softly in reply, answering in a manner she had never done before. "Rest easy my child."

Azrûphel's eyes widened in surprise. Yet they soon heavied, and her sight dimmed as she passed into the forgetfulness of starry dreams, with a contented smile upon her face.

~oOo~

The darkness was failing as the hour of dawn drew near. Already the sky had turned grey and the shining stars began to waver. The eastern horizon was streaked with an orange hue that heralded the rising of the sun.  
>The ship had already come to life, with sailors going about their duties in harnessing the brisk morning wind that had arisen. All three masts displayed great sails that billowed in their strain to draw the Rôthgimil over the sea. Gaining the knots, the ship tossed the quick foam from her bows, rising and dipping in the crested waves.<br>Above the mainsail and fixed to the mainmast was the masthead, a lofty perch that stood almost one hundred feet above the deck. Two now stood there. One was a tall man of greying hair and beard. The other, who clutched at his shoulder, was a young woman who stood rigidly with fear in her eyes.

"Do not pinch," said Balkazîr, "for you are safe up here. Believe me when I say you will not fall."

Azrûphel looked away from the yawning drop and tried to calm herself. However, the sudden height above the deck and the gradual swaying over the fathomless sea, was a little too much for her to endure.

"Oh Balkazîr," she moaned in her distress. "You are truly a villain! Your so called _treat_ shall surely be the end of me."

"Nonsense!" cried the boatswain. "These masts are of the sturdiest pine in all of Anadûnê and would hold ten more of you. Yet I will admit that being up here does take some getting used to. My advice is that you should cease looking down at the far deck, and turn your gaze to the wide waters that surround us."

Azrûphel complied and slowly turned her lofty sight to the watery panorama that now greeted her in earnest. There she was, striding the deeps as if the masts were gigantic stilts, and all about her was the infinite lay of a dawn ridden sea. She forgot her discomfort as the salt-tinged breeze caressed her face and sent her long hair streaming in its wake. She felt free up there, flying over the green waves with the grace of a majestic sea-bird. And coming to her ears were their unmistakable cries!

"Listen Balkazîr!" she exclaimed. "The seagulls call. Surely we must be within lands reach!"

The boatswain nodded and pointed to the airs. Great white birds circled the ship high above them, and a flock of others flew by in the distance. A large gull swooped down to perch upon the very tip of the main-mast, five feet above their heads. He was white all over with black markings upon his head and wings, and he stood upon long legs with webbed feet. He opened his heavy yellow bill and let out a harsh wail that had the men on the deck below, look up.

"A winged herald cries out!" called one. "There he is, perched upon the mast-head. But what is his call? Perhaps he does the duty of our watchman, and tells us of his sight of land. For I doubt the vigilance of the boatswain, as he seems well occupied!"

"Mind the watch Balkazîr!" shouted another. "Or you'll miss the distant shore on the horizon!"

"Now, now lads, let him have his fun!" cried a third. "You'll have to forgive him if his eyes wander. After all, there's sights aplenty for him to indulge in up there!" A jeering laughter of all the sailors followed.

Balkazîr shook his head disapprovingly, yet Azrûphel seemed not to have heard them as she stared ahead at the brightening horizon. The sun was rising, sending forth widening rays that lay down shimmering pathways of dazzling light upon the water. The golden sails of the Rôthgimil burst into rippling flame, and the glossy leaves of the Green Bough of Return, renewed their vigour as the sun's glance touched the ship's prow. The last vestiges of night were tamed as the grey sky turned blue, and the wavering stars faded beyond recall. Wailing gulls now hovered beside the ship upon both its sides, as if they were nature's escorts that would guide the Rôthgimil to port.

A faint blue outline appeared on the horizon and Azrûphel put a hand to her brow, shading her sight from the sun's morning glare. Her eyes widened when what she saw became apparent.

"Land Balkazîr!" she cried in her excitement. "I have sighted land!"

The boatswain shaded his eyes and nodded. "Indeed it is Middle-earth that rises from the deeps before us," he said. "Now look below and call out as loudly as you can. Let the sailors of the Rôthgimil know they are finally within sight of their goal!"

Azrûphel did as she was told with an enthusiasm that rendered her former fears cured. In a voice that rang out as loud as her lungs would allow, she cried to the sailors below, "Land ahead men! The shores of Middle-earth lie upon the horizon!" A great cheer greeted her words.

Just then, the captain emerged from his cabin that was to the stern of the ship. His name was Balakân and he had captained the Rôthgimil from her maiden voyage, almost eight years ago. The sea had been his life since his youth, and he had gained a vast experience through countless voyages. He had even sailed with Pharazôn's fleet that had humbled the might of Sauron and brought him back to Númenor as a prisoner of war. A few years later he retired from the naval army, seeking a simpler life of naval trade.

And so he had come to work for Azulzîr, who had swiftly acknowledged him as the best captain on his payroll. Balakân therefore undertook all of the most important voyages for his lord, and this one was of no exception. This _cargo_ had been the most precious of all.  
>But now he looked up to the mast-head, following the amused stares of his men, and he swore. He was about to give a shout when a cabin door to the fore of the ship opened, and the lady emerged. No doubt she was roused as he was, by the cheering men.<p>

Narûphel strode onto the deck with eyes ablaze with anger. Following meekly behind her were Adûninzil and Urîphêr, whose trembling testament to the wrath of their lady on the unknown whereabouts of her daughter, were shown by their pale and frightened faces. Narûphel eyed the sailors who stood nearby.

"You there!" she cried to one. "Where is my daughter?"

The sailor and those beside him all wordlessly turned their gaze upward. The lady granted them an ill favoured look before she realised, and turned to see what they were staring at.  
>She gasped as her eyes widened in disbelief. "Azrûphel!" was all she could whisper.<p>

Yet Balakân saw Narûphel's distress, and her shock was supported by his own concerns for Azrûphel's safety. "Balkazîr!" he cried.

The boatswain looked down. "Captain!" he answered.

"The young lady has had her fun, as have all the men. But now it is time for her to come down!"

Balkazîr turned to Azrûphel and motioned her to the ratlines; lengths of thin ropes that were tied between the shrouds of the ship to form a lofty ladder. Azrûphel gave a nod and carefully manoeuvred herself onto the lines and began to descend. She clutched at the swaying ropes, lowering herself rung by rung with eyes that did all to shun the dizzying heights that yawned beneath her. Balkazîr followed, supporting her with encouraging words.

Soon she could clearly hear the voices of the sailors and the sighing of the green waves came closer to her ears. She found the courage to look down and saw that the deck was now much nearer, and she hastened her descent with growing confidence. Finally Azrûphel reached the bottom, skipped the last five rungs and leapt down, landing with graceful ease upon the deck. She then turned to the smiling faces of the sailors about her, and gave them all a grandiose curtsy. The ship roared with rowdy applause and laughter.

Balkazîr stepped down beside her and she turned to him with a grateful smile. "Once again, I thank you master boatswain," she said. "The experience has indeed been most pleasurable."

Balkazîr bowed. "I am at your service, as always my lady." came his soft reply.

Azrûphel then turned to follow her mother, who had returned to their cabin in grim silence. The two maidens converged upon Azrûphel with chattering concern.

"Are you all right my lady?" asked Adûninzil, clasping Azrûphel's hand. "You were so high!"

"And it seemed so dangerous!" chimed Urîphêr, clutching her other arm.

Azrûphel assured them that she was fine as they neared the dreaded cabin door. What her mother would say however was a different matter, yet she steeled herself to the fury of the rebuke that awaited her. She paused by the threshold, took a deep breath and entered.

Balkazîr strode to the quarterdeck where the captain stood. The sailors watched him pass by with grinning faces, and plied him with jolly comments.

"You did well Balkazîr," said one. "You'll make a sailor out of her yet!"

"Aye," called another. "You've granted the lady her sea-legs alright, yet you're overlate in the teaching as we're soon for the shore!"

"Nay, you've missed the point lads!" cried a third. "He's had her attentions for most of the trip and would end it on a grand note! Hah! Now the doubts of Saptheth his wife are realised, for truly does she vie with a tempting mistress of the sea!"

Raucous laughter followed the boatswain the rest of the way. There he was met by stern eyes that spoke of a grim mood that was not to be trifled with.

"That was foolish Balkazîr," said Balakân. "The young lady is our master's daughter, whose safety comes above all else. What possessed you to neglect your duties and take her up to the mast-head?"

"It was just an old sea-hand's innocent delight in showing a young eager soul the joys of the sea, nothing more," replied the boatswain.

"A plague on your delight!" fumed the captain. "It was foolish and you know it. What if she had lost her footing and fallen from that high place? You would bring this voyage to untold grief, and endanger all our livelihoods with your nonsense!"

Balkazîr bowed his grey head and sighed. "You are right captain," he said. "It was wrong to place her in such peril. Yet see it as the misdeed of a childless sailor who would teach his beloved craft to an interested youth."

"Then teach your passion to one _who should_ be schooled in your craft. Find a young adventurous boy from the mainland or from our isle, to whom you may bequeath your love of the sea. But the fair daughters of the noble lords of Anadûnê cannot become such pupils!"

"I understand, captain," replied Balkazîr. "Pray pardon my misconduct."

Balakân looked at the boatswain and sighed. He knew the man meant no harm, yet to needlessly disrupt their smooth voyage within sight of their destination was irksome at the very least. Still, all was well...and for the rest of the voyage it seemed. A raging voice now rose through the timbers of the fore cabin. Narûphel was sure to keep her bold daughter imprisoned for the remaining leagues of their journey.

"If you understand, then I pardon you," said Balakân. "Now I shall return to my quarters, if you can be trusted to fulfil your duties as boatswain."

"I can, captain," replied Balkazîr with a bow.

"Then see that Bawbuthôr gets to his rightful post upon the mast-head, and that the men set to their duties in bringing this ship home!"

With that, Balakân turned and made his way to his cabin, calling to the helmsman to keep a steady course and guide the Rôthgimil safely to port.

The cries went up and the deck was all astir as the sailors busied themselves. One began to sing the staves of a popular mariners song to cheer the hands, who roared forth the chorus, about the joys of landfall and the pleasures of the port, with hearty goodwill. The early sun shone fully upon the welcoming sea; the airs were clear and the sky was clean. The Rôthgimil flew with a grace that rivalled her winged escorts, as her golden sails beat the crisp morning airs like huge flapping wings that hauled the ship forward, towards the fast approaching lands of Middle-earth!

* * *

><span>Author's Commentary:<span>

This is my first Second Age story and is my take on Númenor and its people, told primarily through the dramatic relationship between Azrûphel of Anadûnê, and Anbor of Middle-earth. At its heart, it's a love story with the epic backdrop of a grave historic time. The story begins around 2 years before the Fall of Númenor, and the dark state of affairs shall become more apparent as the chapters go on.  
>There's not much else to say about this opening chapter, except that I hope you all like it.<br>Anyway, the next chapter shall see Azrûphel reach the shores of Middle-earth!  
>Thanx!<br>Dedicated to the wonderful world of Fanfic.


	2. Crystal Height

**OF ANBOR AND AZRÛPHEL**

**Chapter Two...  
><strong>**"Crystal Height"**

Uthrûda opened her eyes and for a moment of rising panic, thought she had gone blind. But gradually her sight returned through a mist of darkness that dissolved into a miserable sight of clarity. She lay inside a boat crammed with many recognisable faces, all of whose expressions were of fear and sadness and the blank stares of despair. She winced at the throbbing pain that assailed her and raised a hand to the side of her head. A clatter of metal made her pause, and she realised that her wrists were clasped by thick manacles whose heavy chains were linked to the bands about her ankles. She felt firm hands grasp her shoulders and looked up fearfully to be be greeted by a face she dearly knew. It was her brother.

"Uthrûda, you awaken!" he said, clasping her close. "My heart rejoices as I thought you were beyond all hope."

She put a hand to her aching head and brought her open palm before her eyes. It was stained with streaks of blood.

"Uthrudûl, what happened?" she asked.

"Do you not remember?" he grimly replied.

"I remember tilling in our fields. Uthrawen was with me as was Uthragûl. Then suddenly our sister was screaming. _"The Hunters are come! Flee the Urzûbul!"_ I tried to escape, flying in the direction of our village but the Urzubûl had encircled us from afar, closing in on their prey like stalking beasts that creep low amid the tall grass. I ran into the waiting arms of one and fought him with all my strength as I tried to release myself from his crushing embrace, but to no avail. I then bit his vice-like arm and earned a blow to my head that knocked me senseless. And so I awaken."

"Then you remember enough," said Uthrudûl, "for there is little else to know. We heard the "Horn of Warning" echoing in the fields and gathered all the able men of our village. Swiftly we raced to the aid of our captured folk only to be ambushed and overwhelmed. Those of us who were not slain were rounded up and led to the river where we were forced into the boats."

"And what of Uthragûl and Uthrawen?" asked Uthrûda. "Did they escape?"

Uthrudûl sighed. "No. Our brother and sister are languishing in the boat that sails behind us."

"And what of our mother and father?"

Uthrudûl could only shrug his shoulders. Uthrûda hauled herself up to sit, gently assisted by her elder brother, and replaced her palm over her throbbing head wound. Uthrudûl put a reassuring arm about her shoulders and drew her close. After a brief comforting silence she turned her eyes to their miserable companions that sat with them. There was Golfin, Gabraghâl, Borgim and Hûnathragir, all young men of their tribe. And weeping softly together in a corner were the sisters Anthren, Anthred and Anthrel who were her friends. And old Ragnabor sat in silence beside his glowering son Ragnabûl, the Headman of the Council. Many others of her village sat about her as dejected men and women, all encumbered in fetters and headed towards a dreaded end.

"What do you think the Urzûbul will do to us?" asked Uthrûda.

"Rest sister," he said. "Do not burden yourself with questions."

But Gabraghâl overheard them and raised his head. "Why do you comfort her Uthrudûl?" he said. His glistening eyes held rising tears that belied his stoic expression. "She knows as do we all of our miserable fate! We have been captured by the demons of the sea and soon they shall drink of our blood and set fire to our flesh in evil offerings to their God of Darkness. There is no hope left for us!"

"Aye!" said Hûnathragir. "Yet the fault of our capture lies with Ragnabûl and the Council. Did they not ignore our pleas to distance ourselves from the river and resettle our village nearer to the mountains of Arbûl?"

Ragnabûl shot him a perilous glance. "Hold your tongue boy!" he returned. "What would you know of the counsels of your elders. Our village lay far enough from the perils of the Urzûbul and our people have long been protected by the spirits of our ancestors. Besides, the lands about the Arbûl are in turmoil as the other tribes that settled there war with each other in their efforts to live off the meagre land. Would you have had the courage to defend your people against our marauding neighbours had we moved there? Hardly have I seen you pick up an axe or raise a club, or noted within you the warriors heart that would serve our people well in defence. Were you even present at the muster or were you caught scampering away in fearful flight, only to be netted as a deedless coward!"

Hûnathragir's face contorted with rage at his words and his chained body tensed for a spring. But suddenly his quivering posture faltered and tears sprung from his wavering eyes. He then bowed his head and softly wept in his despair. Ragnabûl's eyes softened and he shook his head in sorrow and turned aside. He did not mean to wither the young man, yet his own despair had forced him to lash out. But the boy's accusing words held some truth for him as he felt he had failed his people and they would now pay for his errors with their lives.

He felt a soft hand upon his shoulder and turned to the age-worn face of his father. "Do not blame yourself my son," were his words. "For what fault could an innocent people be accused of who are beset by the evils of a grave injustice?"  
>The old man turned his grey head to the others who sat there. "All we have ever done is live at peace with the world around us. We till the land, hunt and forage for food, love our wives and beget our children, and give thanks to our ancestors of old. War-like we are not, save to defend our livelihood at times from the other tribes who would hinder our peace.<p>

If the way of our simple life deserves the evil fate that now besets us, then strange indeed are the ways of our ancestors and gods! But I will not abandon hope! Nay, not even in the throes of death from the greedy flames of the Urzûbul! For even then I shall pray to our forebears, and with my final breath plead that _justice_ should find the demons of the sea after my burnt body wafts away in the ash ridden vapours of their black temples!"

A harsh shout sounded from the stern of the boat and a tall man strode forward, kicking aside the legs of the chained that crossed his path. "Cease your grunting you apes!" he cried in a tongue they did not understand. "Or I'll send you to the Dark before your time!"  
>He whipped out a long knife that shone greedily in the early sunlight. Uthrûda and her kin all bowed their heads fearfully before his fierce eyes.<br>"Good!" he said. "And don't think of planning to escape as I've ways of dealing with runaways that would make even your muddy minds cloud over in terror, and bring you to heel good and proper!"

He gave them all the evil eye until his dark sight came to rest upon Uthrûda. "Ah! So the wild imp has arisen at last. Did you sleep well my young _apeling_? Luckily for you we had to move quickly or I'll have repaid you with more than just a blow to the head!"  
>His leering eyes went to her thighs and rose to linger a little higher. Uthrudûl stirred as he noted the man's lustful stare and guessed at his words but Uthrûda tightened her grip upon him in her terror. However, the man raised his arm to glare accusingly at the band of cloth tied about it. He then spat into the river and turned away.<p>

Uthrûda began to tremble. She looked up and saw tall alder branches waving their shadowy leaves over the water. The sun shone as it always had on a summer's morning, glistening upon the river's surface, tingeing the tree leaves with gold, brightening the open blue sky and warming the heart with a coddling breeze. Yet the beloved traits of the warm season that she had long taken for granted now held nothing for her. Nothing except a slow rising dread. For she was held against her will upon a dark path that would lead her to a searing end of pain and death, forcing her to leave behind the joys of the riding sun and creeping moon; the wonders of the open sky and teeming forests; the warm familiarities of the tilled fields and her quaint village; the hearty embraces of her family and dear friends; everything she knew and loved.

Uthrûda turned her frightened eyes to her brother who looked down to her. "It will be all right sister," he whispered.

But she knew that was a lie. With that despairing thought, she buried her head in her brother's chest and wept.

~oOo~

The boats lay moored beside a riverside landing whose wooden planks creaked under the heavy tread of the slavers who now carried their gear to the bank. The alders grew thickly here, with their rustling dark green leaves forming a shadowy canopy under which a well worn path led away from the river to a small clearing. A long shed was built there and a gloom ridden cottage lay behind it, at the very edge of the encircling trees. A narrow track for carts and horses led westward from the clearing, plunging into the thick undergrowth of the forest about it. The sun shone upon the cheerless glade, whose worn grasses grew in ragged tufts amid the dusty ground.

The shed was roughly made and ill maintained, with broken windows and badly laid brickwork. Many armed men stood or lay about it, basking themselves in the morning sun. A few milled about inside the shed where all manner of slavers tools either hung upon the filthy walls or lay upon grime ridden tables. Chains, racks, collars, leashes, cages and much more cluttered the bondage infested scenery. Before the shed's wooden doors were two horse drawn carts packed with cages of thick iron bars, and confined within them were all the captured wild men and women. A proud white horse was tethered to a pole by the cottage, patiently awaiting its master who was within.

The slave master sat at his ease inside the shabby house with a flagon of wine in his hand. A tall young man stood before him. He was fair of face and hair, which flowed with smooth ease to his shoulders. His attire spoke of wealth and complimented his airs that held an attitude of importance. A young slave girl carrying a wooden tray with a pitcher of wine and a flagon, rose from where she knelt, having just presented her master his drink. She then went to the tall man and knelt before him with the tray raised high above her bowed head. The man gave her a curt shake of his head, yet she maintained her posture of offering.  
>The slave master looked at her with rising irritation and placed his foot upon her shoulder and roughly thrust her to the floor. She lay where she had fallen, trembling in fear amid the clatter of woodenware and spilt wine.<p>

"Clean up your mess and get out you mindless imp!" he growled.

She rose to her knees and replaced the flagon and pitcher onto the tray. She then used her tunic to wipe the wine from the floor and was swiftly out the door.

"These wild things are good for nothing, save to feed the ritual fires." said the slave master. "They're lazy workers and aren't even good for the bed as they lie with all the passion of a corpse!"

The tall man gave the slave master an unsavoury glance. "Spare me the details of your nightly pleasures with the wild folk Ugrubên," he said with distaste. "Come, let us conclude our business." He produced a heavy pouch and tossed it into Ugrubên's waiting hand.

The slave master weighed it in his palm and smiled. "Why thank 'ee, master Abrazân," he said. "I'll not count it as I'm sure it's all there."

"It is," said Abrazân, "and there is more."

"More?"

"You did exceed the amount I had hoped for."

"Truly so. Fifteen requested and twenty three delivered."

"You have my thanks."

"And may I ask what these slaves are for. The felling fields, the estates or the fires?"

The young man looked sternly at the slave master as he thought to rebuke him for his delving questions. Yet what harm would come of it if he told him.  
>"I mean to send them to lord Zigûrbên."<p>

"What?" said Ugrubên in surprise. "This bounty is for our Lord Priest?"

"Indeed," Abrazân replied. "Few know of this, but lord Zigûrbên plans to hold a grand ceremony to honour the Dark One and pray for his guidance and blessings in the conquest to come. I aim to surprise our Lord Priest with this gift of slaves that would sate the numerous rituals that are bound to take place."

"And so gain his favour no doubt."

"It is to be hoped."

"Well," said the slave master, "I wish you well in your endeavour. Twenty three slaves would be a respectable gift, especially in these lean times. The wild folk move ever further inland and are harder to find. They've grown fiercer too."

"So I see," said Abrazân, gesturing to Ugrubên's bound hand. "It must have been quite a duel that gave you your wound."

Ugrubên stared at him with narrowed eyes but Abrazân laughed and made for the door. There he paused and turned back to the slave master.

"A word of advice," he said. "If I were you I would begin to cumulate the merchandise."

"And why would I do that?" asked Ugrubên.

"Word has it that the Númenorean fleet is nearing completion. When that day comes there shall be a royal call for a host of slaves to man the ships. I foresee you becoming a very rich man...should you handle your business wisely."

"With you at the helm of the arrangements no doubt," said Ugrubên.

"With my connections and influence! I would do the negotiating and you..."

"The capturing," the slave master drily cut in.

"Think Ugrubên," said Abrazân. "Ar-Pharazôn would send a host of soldiers to do the work of emptying all the coastal lands and beyond of their wild denizens, without a thought for the slave masters who now ply their trade. Align yourself with me and you will be guaranteed a fair portion of the brisk business that is bound to arise in the coming months."

Ugrubên looked at the young man with a discerning eye. He was an ambitious little lordling but he was assured and clever; a winning combination to success. Perhaps he would trust him in this. Ugrubên took a swig of his wine. "I'd have time to think about your proposal." He did not want to give the proud young man the satisfaction of his eagerness.

But Abrazân smiled knowingly and gave him a mock bow. "As you wish master," he returned. "But do not take too long as there are many others of less wit with whom I would do business with!" Without waiting to see Ugrubên's scowl, he exited the cottage and strode to his tethered horse.

"Sakalbên, Abrathôr!" he cried to the drivers of the laden carts as he leapt upon his saddle. "Set forth for home at once!"

A click of his tongue set his horse to canter forward and he glanced casually at the human booty that was stashed in his carts. The slaves either knelt or squatted within their crowded prisons. Some clutched at the iron bars, staring at him with the wide vacant eyes of despair, while others were sobbing as they held their bowed heads in their trembling hands. Abrazân turned away from their misery with ease. It was a picture he had seen many times before and was much used to it. Yet the wild men were beneath his pity and concern. They were necessities that enhanced the Númenorean way of life...akin to livestock, and one never felt sorry for the cow or chicken or pig. Yet far more importantly, they were currency...the currency of favour that would usurp all the notions of conscience. Slavery to the Númenoreans was not cruelty, but a way of life.

"You do not ride with us master?" asked Abrathôr, as Abrazân cantered to his side.

"Nay," he replied. "I shall go on before you. Have you forgotten that we have dear guests that are due to arrive today. I am overly late as it is. Therefore I shall see you at Crystal Height."

With that he sped away, passing through the trees in a cloud of dust and fluttering leaves.

~oOo~

The longboat heaved forward and settled, riding the silvery waters to the straining arms of the eight sailors who manned the oars and drew the longboat towards the shore. Azrûphel looked back to the Rôthgimil that had been her home for almost two months of journeying across the wide sea to a foreign land. The ship had dropped anchor and now languished upon the placid waters of a wide sheltered bay. Her golden sails were down, revealing stark evidence of her tall bare masts and complex rigging, open to full view. Azrûphel could see the tiny figures of the sailors who remained behind to attend to the ship. She and her mother were being ferried to their destination before the Rôthgimil set sail again for the southerly coasts to pick up her waiting cargo from other estates.

Both ladies sat in the longboat with their maidens Adûninzil and Urîphêr, with Captain Balakân overseeing the men at the oars under a discerning eye from where he sat at the stern. Azrûphel thought of Balkazîr the boatswain who had stayed aboard the ship to oversee the crew and smiled to herself at the fond memories of their friendship. She hoped to see him again upon the shore where she thought to tease him in being a fish out of water where the solid ground would wound his feet, and the restful invitation of a bed would give him no peace. She was glad to have met him, and grateful for the newfound reverence he had imparted to her for the mysteries and wonders of the sea.

But that part of her journey was over and she was now drawn by strong rowing hands to another mysterious realm of which she knew nothing. The lands before her looked familiar, being of yellow sands, waving trees and rising hills. Yet all seemed of another world, with rolling beaches that were yet to be trod upon, and rustling trees whose kinds she had never seen, and tall summits that were yet to be surmounted. She felt as a meek stranger from a small isle who now approached the threshold of a vast new realm that was beyond her comprehension.

This was Middle-earth, the mammoth continent; a land of which the Númenoreans knew so little, and yet of which they claimed to own so much. For Ar-Pharazôn professed to being its lord and his people took all that they would from it. They had settled upon its fertile lands, plundered its deep riches and gained dominion over its cowering peoples. But the Númenoreans had only conquered the tips of its western coasts, as they would not settle far from the sea.

Yet there were a few who ventured deep into Middle-earth's mysterious interior and fewer still who ever came back. Then those who returned would relate strange tales to those who would listen, recounting visions of vast deserts of endless dune ridden sands and dark untamed forests under whose thick green canopies the sun's light was diminished. They spoke of long meandering rivers whose winding courses begat thundering waterfalls and perilous rapids as they coiled through deep valleys. They described towering mountains as seen from afar, whose jagged icy crowns were hidden in the wispy folds of lofty grey clouds, and told of wide inland seas whose boatless waters stretched before the eye.

And in the telling they would raise their flagon to salute the king's power, commending the striking vastness of his conquered domain. Yet their hands would tremble at the toast, and their wine would spill from the cup. And when asked what fearful thought would have them quake in the midst of friends, they would speak of the denizens of the dark inner lands; the savage tribes that hunted the Númenorean explorers like beasts.

"But why do you quail at the thought of the wild men whom we use as our slaves and offerings?" would be the defiant yell of one in the crowd. "What should we fear from those helpless whelps!"

"The wild men I speak of are not of our bounds," the storyteller would reply. "Nay, they are not of the timid kind whom we have enslaved with ease. These are of a different sort who are bold and fierce, and are organised in battle. Heed me when I say that we have conquered this vast land in name only, for there are tribes in their multitudes that you know nothing of. Yet they know of our people and they hate us, being schooled no doubt by the vengeful wild men who are under our yoke. Therefore believe me when I say that the power of Anadune shall soon be put to the test. For they are coming!"

Then the gathered crowd would grow silent under a descending cloud of rising doubt. But the storyteller would drink to the health of the king and the enduring power of Númenor and make his exit, leaving his disquietened audience to their troubled thoughts. Yet such stories were few and far between, and the people of the coasts would soon forget their warnings until another gaunt traveller appeared to them, imparting the same dire warning to those who would listen.

But Azrûphel knew nothing of such evil portents as she looked to Middle-earth's approaching shores with rising excitement. There was nothing ominous about the lands she saw before her. She now beheld the welcoming sight of a sheltered bay whose tapering out-thrust arms were covered by waving palm trees that grew upon bright yellow sands. To the shore, the bay carved itself into a shallow valley that was nestled between the sloping arms of a tall hill whose rise was densely covered in trees. Upon its summit stood a great white pillar with a globe of light at its top that shone brightly with a piercing light in the mid-morning sun. High shoulders stretched away from the hill to the north and south of it, and the ridge bordered the coastal line for as far as the eye could see. The golden beach receded from the lapping waves, losing its sheen to the stony shingles and hard rock of the mainlands. Upon the easy slopes of the ridge to the south were many houses of white stone, built in pleasant rows upon the terraces, and at the foot of the valley was a small port that held a flurry of bustling activity.

The longboat was now in clear sight of the shore and Azrûphel could see those who awaited their arrival upon the quay. Her heart fluttered with anticipation as she clearly saw the one person she had missed the most. He stood before the rest, with a hand to his brow and a smile upon his face.

Azrûphel turned swiftly to her mother. "I can see him!" she exclaimed. "I can see father awaiting us! There he is, shading his eyes in his effort to see our approach. Oh how he smiles!"

Narûphel leaned aside to better see the nearing quay. Indeed, there was Azulzîr, stood precariously upon the very edge of the landing. It looked as if he would dive into the water in his eagerness and swim to their meeting. She shook her head in vague annoyance at his ardency, yet a faint smile rose to belie her displeasure. For all her disapprovals, she realised then how much she truly missed him.  
>And yet is that not why she and Azrûphel were here? She had lived without her husband for ten long years. At first, she had dwelt alone with proud independence, yet that had turned into bitter resentment as the years went by. But at last her heart's desire could not be denied as her secret yearning for him became unbearable. Furthermore she needed a time of respite, away from the ever mounting complications of life that Númenor now presented.<p>

"Fool of a man," she said drily, to hide her own rising anticipation. "If he leans any farther he will fall into the water."

Azrûphel, who had made her way to the bow, turned back. "Oh come mother," she called. "I know you have missed him as much as I have. You cannot hide the joy in your eyes."

Narûphel shook her head. "Foolishness child," she returned with an undeniable smile.

Soon the boat was within earshot and Azulzîr raised a hand and waved. "Truly blessed is this day!" he called. "To think that my two most precious jewels have been brought safely over the vast leagues of the sea to grace my sights again! May Belegaer be praised for his leniency!"

"And praise the captain, father!" called Azrûphel. "As our smooth passage was only assured under his watchful guidance."

"Truly am I indebted to you Balakân." Azulzîr returned.

"Your praise is undeserved, my lord!" cried the captain. "For in boldness I would tell the truth and have it known that the very sea becalmed itself in reverence, so as to let two of Anadûnê's most finest women cross over its domain in peace."

"I see that the company of these noble ladies has sweetened your tongue Balakân," laughed Azulzîr. "Yet you speak the truth as I reckon the very waters parted before the prow, in deference to their beauty."

But Narûphel raised a brow, "I know nothing of parting waters," she called. "Yet the sea went flat when I told it to. I did not think to ask for more!"

There was laughter upon the boat and on the quay as the vessel reached its berth. Azulzîr gave his daughter his hand and aided her to the landing. There he drew her into his arms and held her close.

"My dearest Azrûphel," he said softly, caressing her long pliant hair.

Azrûphel clung to her father, nestling her head upon his shoulder. She could not believe that she now stood within his warm embrace and could feel his reassuring presence. That she now heard his familiar voice and could see the undeniable features of his face. _How_ she had wished for this!  
>She tried to speak, yet could only mutter a few words which she did not understand in her intense delight. Their meaning only became apparent with her father's answer.<p>

"And I have missed you too, my dear child," he replied.

Azulzîr then turned to the boat and gently released his daughter. He put out a hand and took hold of his wife's, and aided her to his side. There they looked upon one another with warm smiles and intimate joy in their glowing eyes. Azrûphel stood to the side, tearfully witnessing her father and mother's reunion. Her father tenderly caressed her mother's cheek and Narûphel lowered her eyes and bowed her head in gentle shyness. Azrûphel knew that the past ten years had visibly hardened her mother, yet to see her respond to the affections of her father with maiden-like innocence spoke volumes about her depth of feelings for him. She realised then that there was more to her mother than was to be thought.

"And so you have finally come," said Azulzîr. "Long have I awaited this day."

Narûphel gazed at him with softened eyes as she studied his face. "The years have done nothing but age you," she remarked.

Azulzîr laughed, as did those who stood nearby. "And yet you look younger than ever!" he replied. "How are you possible?"

Narûphel's lips rose to a gentle smile. "However, your tongue has lost none of its charm I see," she returned.

"Then I am relieved," said Azulzîr, "since it is plain I have lost my looks to age in your eyes. I would have at least one trait that still seems good to you."

"You have lost nothing in my eyes," said Narûphel, to the waning of her grin. "For the lines upon your face are not of cares and concerns. Rather they suggest the qualities of joy and content." She traced the creases about his eyes with a gentle finger. "You have laughed much since I last saw you," she said softly. "Life in Middle-earth has clearly been kind to you."

Azulzîr looked deep into Narûphel's grey eyes and saw that much was hidden behind their soft glance. There were unknown trials and tribulations to be read, as well as a deep sadness and something more. Azulzîr's own smile faded for an instant, as he realised that all was not well with his wife. But now was not the time for a show of concern, not while others stood by who were there to welcome his wife and daughter. There would be time enough to talk.

He swiftly returned his smile to its place and looked to the gathering that stood there. "Do you see?" he said to them in jest. "Your laughter was misplaced as the lady's remark was well meant. For to her I have aged like a mature wine, and am now full of richness and flavour for her palate's taste. She discerns no doubt the joy and content that is prevalent in the hinterlands, and such is a gracious testament to the bliss we have created for ourselves. Therefore, I would ask for your warm hospitality to be extended to my wife and daughter throughout their stay with us."

The gathering smiled as one and bowed low in their assent.

"But where is Abrazân, father?" asked Azrûphel as her quick eyes darted among the strangers that stood there. "Surely he came to welcome us."

Narûphel also turned to the gathering, searching for her son but Azulzîr's expression darkened and he turned his gaze eastward to the slopes of the great ridge and beyond.

Narûphel looked at him with rising concern. "Azulzîr?" He turned back to her but could only reply with a pale smile.  
>"What do you fear to tell us?" she questioned with growing agitation.<p>

Azrûphel stepped towards her father, mirroring her mother's anxious mood. "What has happened to my brother?" she demanded. "Why has he not come to meet us?"

But Azulzîr broadened his smile in an effort to reassure them. "He is out on an errand of his own," he said. "But he is late, and shall incur my wrath upon his return as he gave me his word that he would be here to welcome you."

The two ladies set aside their conjured fears with sighs of relief. Yet they were nonetheless disappointed at Abrazân's absence, and Azrûphel marked her father's troubled look that betrayed far more than just his plain annoyance at his son's truancy.

"But come!" said Azulzîr. "Let me present you both to those who _were_ gracious enough to welcome you, _on time_."

A flurry of introductions, handshakes, bows, curtsies and salutations followed. They were received by people of apparent importance, all of whom either worked for her father's estate or worked within the port.

Finally Azulzîr brought them before a tall man of fair hair and a noble and kindly face. "And this is Zadnazîr," he said. "He is the head of my household and oversee's the affairs of my estate."

The man bowed before them. "It is my pleasure to welcome you to Crystal Height."

Azrûphel looked up to the tall tree clad rise and the shining pillar at its summit. "I should very much like to climb the hill and see its lighting crystal up close."

"That can certainly be arranged my lady," said Zadnazîr. "Indeed the view from up there is wonderful to behold as one can espy the fruits of your father's great labour in their entirety."

"There shall be time enough for sightseeing Azrûphel," said her father. "But first I would bring you to our house to rest awhile after your long voyage."

With that, he took the hands of his wife and daughter and the party left the quay. They skirted the port to their left and made their way across the golden sands towards the terraced housing that looked to the sea. Soon their feet trod upon the smooth grey shingles that led up to a wide road of paved stone that came up from the south, following the line of the coast. Heavily laden carts and wains drove up and down its path, yet more came from the south, heading for the port. Upon either side of the road were broad riding tracks with few horsemen going about their business.

An elaborately decorated and gilded carriage designed for comfort and elegance awaited them by the wide paved road. There Azulzîr thanked his companions for coming to welcome his family and after many invitations and farewells, the party dispersed. The ladies and their maidens entered the carriage and awaited Azulzîr as he spoke with Balakân.

"Master, permit me a swift visit home as I would see my wife before I return to the ship." said the captain.

"Do as you will Balakân," replied Azulzîr. "But the Rôthgimil will not head out today as planned. A feast shall be held tonight in honour of my family's homecoming. Therefore send for all the men that remain on the ship as they are invited to our merry-making." Balakân bowed low.  
>Azulzîr entered the carriage and turned to the captain. "And tell them they are all to receive a generous bonus for the work they have done. Thus shall you all know of my gratitude."<p>

"I thank you master," said Balakân in parting.

The carriage began to trundle forward, going northward. The road rose with the terrain, mounting the slopes of the ridge and passing high above the port that was nestled below to the left. The highway then turned east beneath the crest of the sloping arm of the hill and surmounted the high shoulder of the southern ridge. Azrûphel gazed at the treeclad upper half of the hill that rose to their left. There grew tall white oaks with waving rounded crowns, and fine maples that coloured the hill with green and gold. Shrubs grew here and there in brightly coloured clusters, flowering in yellow, orange, white, red and purple. Butterflies and hummingbirds hovered and flitted in the airs.

"Nature has a sense of archaic beauty in these lands," said Azrûphel. "Simple yet mesmerising. It is so unlike Nûmenor whose beauty is tangible yet somewhat forced, as if our meadows and forests were purposely planted by the gods to please the eye. But here everything is wild and natural in its effortless beauty, and speaks more to the heart than the eye."

Azulzîr smiled. "You have a discerning heart," he said. "For that is true enough."

The carriage now descended, rolling towards the vast inner lands that stood behind the wall of the ridge.

"Come daughter," said Azulzîr. "Behold your home!"

Azrûphel moved over to the opposite window that looked southward and gasped in wonder. A mighty dwelling that was nestled at the foot of the ridge now passed into view. Its walls shone with a white tint and its numerous roofs were of low-pitched tiles. Shapely archways ordained entrance points and lovely balconies all flower laden, gave exquisite viewpoints from the second and third floors. Decorative iron window grilles and entire window walls gave sight from within to the lush gardens, patios and fountains. Even from the highway Azrûphel could discern the warm sense of hospitality and grand homely comfort of the house.

The gardens about the house were no less breathtaking. There stood oranges and lemon trees dripping with fruit, and silvery olive trees dancing in the wind alongside evergreen ash and jacaranda's in full bloom. Many shrubs peppered the green lawns such as oleander, gardenias and night scented jasmine. Arbors formed pleasant shaded walkways upon which ornamental and fruiting grapes were trained. Three large pools of sparkling water with sprouting fountains at their centre, graced the lawn near the main threshold of the mansion.

Azrûphel turned her stare to her mother who mirrored her awe. Azulzîr laughed softly at their wonder. The carriage came to a halt by the great gates of the homestead.  
>"Welcome home," he said to them. "Welcome to Crystal Height!"<p>

* * *

><span>Author's Commentary:<span>

Once again, nothing much to say about this chapter except I hope you all enjoy it! Thanx!


	3. The Seeds Of An Avalanche

**OF ANBOR AND AZRÛPHEL**

**Chapter Three...  
><strong>**"The Seeds Of An Avalanche"**

Azrûphel sat upon her bed and gave a contented smile. She took in the look of her spacious room with fanciful delight. The warm patches of sunlight upon the grey walls, the flat ceiling with its richly carved beams, the dark shining oaken furniture and the delightful flowery decorum nodding in their vases. As new as this all was, she felt at home here. A soft breeze entered from the sun-drenched balcony, setting the silken drapes to flutter before her. She rose and stepped outside, stooping to savour the sweet fragrance of the white magnolia, pink lilacs, speckled sweet peas and yellow roses that were planted there.

After a dreamy while, Azrûphel stood and leaned against the lofty rail of the balcony to take in the sights of the homestead in earnest. The luscious garden spread beneath her, tinted with the golden sunlight of near noon. Her sight passed over the far wall to the east and saw cultivated rows straddling the far slopes of a rise; the wine plantations. To the south east were herds of livestock grazing lazily in the distance. She turned north to the rise of the hill whose trees waved to her from the heights.

Azrûphel now saw that Crystal Height was the last of a chain of hills that stretched on into the hazy easterly distance behind it. Upon a few of them were grey walls peeping through the greenery of their summits, and shining towers rose proudly into the high airs. Beneath these fortifications were many houses that terraced the hill-chain's slopes facing southward, and the road that led to the port ran beneath them with laden carts and horses moving slowly upon it, going away into the east or approaching the west.

Azrûphel's eyes narrowed slightly as she strained to look. Had she seen a shimmering outline upon the horizon? She was reminded of her sight of land from the lofty mast-head of the Rôthgimil. Were those far away mountains that fenced the borders of stranger lands in the vast realm of Middle-earth? She could not know, but she put a hand to her brow in her effort to gain a better look.

There was a soft knock at the door and Azrûphel turned to see Adûninzil enter. She smiled and beckoned to her maiden.

"Come out here and share the view with me!" she called.

Adûninzil smiled and joined her. Azrûphel put an arm about her maiden's shoulders and swept the other before them in a gesturing motion. "What do you think of our new home?" she asked.

Her maiden grinned as she set her grey eyes upon the pleasant view. "It is a pretty sight my lady," she said. "Yet not one to rival the paradise that is Yôzâyan. Many of our towering trees and radiant flowers come from the undying lands, and the beauty of our shimmering landscapes is newly wrought by the reckoning of the years in Middle-earth. This land however is ancient and worn, and beyond these fair dwellings of our people I deem the land is withered and grey."

Azrûphel's smile faded and she turned to Adûninzil and sighed. "Do your eyes hold no wonder for this foreign land, that you should note such blemish within its fair portrait?" She turned back to the view. "Do you not feel a sense of intrigue about this strange place, a sense of epic adventure?"

Adûninzil laughed. "Nay, I am not so moved," she said. "Intrigue and adventure are the vices of pioneers and adventurers...or mariners," she added with a look. Azrûphel gave her a furrowed glance. "Yet I am none of those things my lady, but a plain woman of Yôzâyan. And I hope I am not too bold in saying that you are too!"

"That _is_ bold," said Azrûphel with narrowed eyes.

Adûninzil took Azrûphel's arm from her shoulder and clasped her lady's hand in her own. "I meant no offense," she said softly. "but I do not understand your mood thus far. Excitement in long journeying is one thing, but your easy friendships with the Rôthgimil's sailors, climbing up perilous mast-heads like a deck-hand, and your heady love for these hinterlands you know nothing of is strange to say the least."

Azrûphel's face was darkened by her scowl. "You have drunk deeply of my mother's brew," she said softly, "and freely spout her coddling thought in your insolence. Well, if that is all you came to say you had better leave, for I have heard enough!"

Azrûphel pulled her hand away and turned her back on Adûninzil's look of alarm to stare sullenly at the spoiled view. There was a moment of tense silence before she heard her maiden's soft remorseful voice.

"I did not mean to anger you, my lady. May you forgive me."

At that moment, Azrûphel heard the door open and her father's voice came breezing in. "Ah, there you are! I have been...Adûninzil, whatever is the matter?"

A soft sobbing rose and Adûninzil's breaking voice answered him. "I am sorry my lord, but I must leave."

A swift patter of feet signaled a hasty exit, followed by another uncomfortable silence.

"Azrûphel?" came her father's query.

"It is nothing father," said Azrûphel without turning. "Nothing but the drama of women."

"The drama of women!" came Azulzîr's reply. The door closed. "Now that _is_ serious!"

Azrûphel gave a soft grin and turned to see her father return her smile from the door. "Will you share the view with me?" she asked.

"I gladly will," said Azulzîr as he stepped forward. Yet as he reached the threshold of the balcony his daughter held out a halting hand.

"But only if I have your word that you will not further dampen my spirits with tiresome lectures on my presumed unlady like behaviour," she stated.

"I have already had an earful of that from your mother and am disinclined to hear or discuss anymore of it!" her father replied with a grin.

"And spare me the sermon that states the unequaled merits of the beauty of Yôzâyan when compared with this _desolation_ of a land."

"What!?" cried Azulzîr with mock surprise. "Adûninzil compared this earthly paradise to _desolation_? Had I known I would have..."

Azrûphel swept into his arms. "Oh father, I truly have missed you!"

Azulzîr kissed her brow. "There, there child," he said, softly patting her back with a reassuring hand.

Azrûphel raised her face; she was smiling. "The drama of women," she laughed.

"So I see," said her father, laughing with her.

Azrûphel took her father's hand and led him out onto the balcony where they stood awhile, gazing in silence.

"Well father," said Azrûphel, "let me have the lay of the land."

Azulzîr grinned and turned to point eastward towards the cultivated rows upon the shallow hill. "Well, there lies our plantations that turn in the finest wine of the province."

"Such praise would be forthcoming from you," said Azrûphel with a raised brow.

"Nay," said Azulzîr. "I speak truly. Our wines are renowned far and wide up and down the coasts, and even those of Anadûnê relish its flavour, even to the royal house."

"And the grazing livestock over there," asked Azrûphel, pointing to the herds.

"All ours," her father replied. "And may I say they provide the most exquisite beef in all..."

"Yes, yes father, but what of those towers rising from the hill-tops?"

"Those are the Crystal Height Forts that house the garrisons that serve to protect us."

"Protect us?" echoed Azrûphel with a creased brow. "From what?"

"From whatever should seek to harm us," was Azulzîr's reply. "These regions in which we live have been tamed. Up to twenty miles inland from where we stand, there are settlements of the Adûnaim. But after that come the wild lands. An untamed wilderness where the wild men we displaced now roam. And as you would expect, they are not friendly." Her father said this lightly yet his face was grave.

"Because we enslave them," said Azrûphel with a darkened face.

"Yes," was Azulzîr's simple reply.

Azrûphel eyed the eastern view thoughtfully. She was well aware of Nûmenor's culture of slavery that had unwilling hands toil for its glory and prosperity. Yet she had been far removed from witnessing the endless hardships and numerous cruelties that fueled the might of her people, as she had lived a somewhat sheltered life with her mother back home. But even there a few slaves from the hinterlands were to be found and their numbers grew with each passing year. The Council of the King had sanctioned the crossing of many wild men to toil for the rich and influential of Numenor, who used them like beasts or treated them as pets within their households.

Azrûphel gave her father a swift glance and looked eastward with widened eyes that betrayed her rising doubt. Her spirits sank as she stared into the far wilderness. The flaws in her hinterland paradise were becoming evermore evident with each conversation she had, and she began to feel foolish at the thought of her somewhat childish excitement and naivety.

"Have the wild folk ever attacked before?" she asked, fearful of the answer.

Azulzîr's warm smile was his effort of reassurance."They have not," he said. "How could they? Who of the lesser peoples of Middle-earth would dare strive against the might of Anadûnê!" He set an arm about Azrûphel's waist and drew her closer to him. "I am sorry dearest, for I see that I have broken my word and further dampened your spirits. It was not my intention to have you know of these things upon your first day of arrival."

"Yet I would have found out all the same," Azrûphel replied. She sighed and lay her head upon her father's shoulder. "I have been a naive fool, prancing about the ship and frolicking with its crew with the zeal of a lusty sea-wench. And here I have flittered about the house like a child in a play-den, and in a misguided haze of adolescent delight I have daydreamed about the marvels of the hinterlands. Perhaps mother was right. I should be sterner of mood and grim in thought. Even my own maiden sought to rebuke my ardour."

Azulzîr laughed. "Well I would not go so far as to put it like that, yet she may have had a point."

Azrûphel looked at his smiling face for a querying moment and her brow darkened with realization. "So I am truly surrounded by my mother's spies! She sent you here to tether me with your charm."

Azulzîr laughed again and tightened his arm about her but she stubbornly shrugged him off. His laughter waned to a soft smile. "Perhaps your mother did send me, yet I would not have done as she bid if I did not somewhat agree with her. The truth is that Middle-earth is a vast land with many perils that would ensnare the heedless. It is true that the land is filled with archaic beauty and wonders that would dazzle and astound you, yet be mindful that it is not Anadûnê and few of its people harbour any love for us. Also know that here at our havens we are safe, yet be wary all the same. Be free and charming with those you meet, yet hold something back. Even among our people there are many with hidden purposes who would see ill in the innocent thoughts of a free-spirited lady. For know that the spies of the king do not dwell in Anadûnê only."

Azrûphel sighed and turned to the view. She knew her father was right yet it irked her more that her mother was too, even Adûninzil. She had thought the trip would be a respite away from the cloying nature of Nûmenor. Yet she already felt the familiar barriers here too. She could not be free, be herself.

She looked wistfully at the distant forts that hazily stood upon the hills and after a while, narrowed her eyes to what she noticed. "That horseman rides with great eagerness judging by the cloud of dust that rises in his wake."

"Yes," murmured her father. "And his eagerness is well merited, for he is late!" With that, Azulzîr turned and made for the door.

"Where are you going father?" asked Azrûphel, a little perturbed by his hasty exit.

"I am going to have words with that rider!" he called as he passed out of her room.

Azrûphel stared after him for a thoughtful moment before returning to the balcony. The rider now rode alongside the low walls of the estate where he checked his speed and soon came to a halt by the gates and gave a call. The wardens immediately hauled them open and he entered, riding his proud white horse at a gentle canter. Azrûphel's eyes widened with sudden recognition.

"Abrazân!" she cried in her startled excitement.

Her brother looked up, smiled and gave a wave. "Well are you just going to stand up there and gape, or are you going to come down and greet your long lost brother?!" he called.

Azrûphel turned and swept out of her room, flew down the stairs and raced through the house. She swiftly emerged from the main entrance but halted just short of the silver pooled fountains. Azulzîr now stood before his son and judging by his terse gestures, was surely berating Abrazân for his truancy. Servants of the household and workers of the estate now paused in their doings, silently witnessing the drama unfold. Azrûphel hesitated, her joy dissipating as she watched them argue. She caught a few hurled words that spoke of things she did not understand. Accusations of cruelty and slave-trading from her father that were countered by the faults of a weak lord who behaved like an apologetic rebel from her brother.

Their heightened anger and wild words troubled Azrûphel as it were plain this was not the first time they clashed in such a manner. She remembered the strange look her father gave when they asked for Abrazân's whereabouts at the quay. She was now quite sure that her father had not only been annoyed by her brother's absence, but that he also disapproved of where Abrazân was and what he was doing. There were plainly deep differences of conduct that lay between Azulzîr and Abrazân that had festered over time and it pained Azrûphel to witness the two people she loved most fight in such a manner. She was about to take a step forward in a bid to quell their argument when a loud voice rose behind her.

"Cease your discord at once!" cried Narûphel as she strode past Azrûphel and approached the bristling men with the imperious air of a stern queen. "Your quarrel can wait. Let me greet my son in peace!"

Azulzîr subsided and took a step back. Abrazân's sour expression softened as he gave the lady a weak smile. "Mother!" he said, going forward to embrace her.

Narûphel leaned back and looked closely at him. Her sharp grey eyes studied his handsome face and tall lean body. "My dearest son!" she said at last, with eyes now glistening with emotion. "How long has it been lamb, ten despicable years of parting!"

"Now, now mother," laughed Abrazân. "I am a lamb no more but a full grown ram that rakes the dust with a heavy hoof, bristling for the charge. Yet the years have been despicable enough, for I have dearly missed you."

"And I you," Narûphel replied. "More than you will ever know," she added softly. It seemed her words overwhelmed her then, for she bowed her head and put her hands to her face to hide her tearful eyes.

"Now come mother," said Abrazân, gathering her in another warm embrace. "No more tears, be they of joy or grief. You are here and we are together again. That is all that matters."  
>He then looked past his mother's shoulder and saw Azrûphel slowly come towards him. "Well, well," he said, "I was not sure it was you when you called my name from the balcony, but now that I fully see you I know my doubts were well founded! For this beautiful young woman is most certainly not my sister. For she is a slight little thing, all of two little knees and two big round eyes all gathered under a trailing mop of dark hair!"<p>

"Well if the suckling lamb now sees itself as a posturing ram, then know that the delicate fawn transformed into an elegant deer!" Azrûphel loftily replied.

Abrazân laughed. "And your tongue is still as sharp I see!" With that, he let go of his mother and went forward to embrace his sister.

Azrûphel gazed at her brother and caressed his face. "The years seem to have been good to you," she said.

"Not half as much as they have been to you," he replied. "Every suitor from Crystal Height to Umbar will come beating upon our gates once word of your beauty spreads."

"What a terrible thought," said Azrûphel with mock exasperation.

"I know," replied Abrazân. "I feel sorry for them already. I shall have to warn them of the headstrong troublemaker that lies beneath your allure."

Azrûphel gaped in her indignation but Abrazân laughed and kissed her cheek. "It is still so easy to jest at your expense," he said to her pout.

"Well continue your jesting indoors," said Narûphel, taking her son's arm as she walked back to the house. "You arguing men have attracted an audience that needs to mind its own affairs."

She sniffed at the many servants who were halted by the quarrel and now stood respectfully by, witnessing the tearful reunion.

Azulzîr turned to them. "Return to your duties," he said. "There is nothing more to take note of here!"

He grinned a little at their excited chatter as they dispersed. Whatever the night held, it would have its fair share of gossip. He then turned to watch his family make their way indoors and as he did, his brow darkened. His son troubled him deeply, or rather he disappointed him. Abrazân's attitudes and deeds were not of the man Azulzîr hoped his son would be. He had enticed Abrazân to Middle-earth, a land away from the darkened attitudes and policies of Númenor. He thought he could mold Abrazân into a better man, at least in his eyes.

Yet Númenor's reach was long and her influence was not lessened by the wide seas. In fact, the peoples of the coasts were grimmer than their island brethren, being the vanguard of Númenor's conquests. Many of them delighted in the debasement of Middle-earth's peoples, and indulged in cruelty towards their own people, who were slaves from those of the "Faithful". Coastal lords fawned for favour and influence from the dark clergy who were Sauron's priests and priestesses. Heinous rituals and despicable acts were commonplace in their citadels and estates, all done in the name of the god the Númenoreans had taken for themselves.

It all sickened Azulzîr to see a noble people brought so low by their own machinations. Many times did he sit in his library, tearfully reading of Númenor's histories that spoke of their past noble glory before the black taint assailed them. To think of what it meant to be a Númenorean before the shadow seemed like a remote dream of a thought, a fleeting light ages behind them that shone upon a fairer time in their history. A time when actual nobility was understood; a time when innocent joys were cultivated and glorious hopes were realized; a time when prosperity were not a thing of wealth but that of the goodness of heart; a time when Númenor was guided by deep wisdom.

But now all was dark and filled with deepening shadows that harboured conniving whispers, malicious deeds and evil cunning. Now arose red mists of coiling incense that bred lustful groans and gasping agonies of ritual demand. Now simmered fiery hatreds and vile attitudes towards all that was not Númenorean. How could Azulzîr not want to protect his son from this. But he had failed. All of Abrazân's friends and peers were of like mind, believing in the dark might of Númenor and the merits of its people in achieving it. The more Azulzîr sought to clear his son of this travesty, the more his son embraced the fallen ways of his people. And now Narûphel was come.

Azulzîr sighed. He knew he was at fault for loving her but he could not help himself. She was mighty in strength of mind and spirit, perilously fair and bold and of a kind far loftier than he. That a timid unassuming man like himself should have fallen for such a queenly woman was not to be wondered at. Yet beyond all hope and expectations she had returned his love and that was as strange a fortune to Azulzîr as it was to many others who looked to their union. Nevertheless, he had held onto that soft strain in her mood and gratefully gave her all he had. Yet he could not change her completely. Nay. In their soft spoken words together and gentle stares he had always recognized the hardness lurking behind, a sleeping mood that would awaken with the growing pride and haughtiness of Númenor and its people.

And surely as time went on her words to him were flecked with growing disdain to his questionable sensibilities and soft attitudes. Yet more hurtful to him was the scornful light in her eyes as she berated him for his perceived weaknesses. She fully believed in the imperious path Númenor had set for itself whereas he hated it. In the end he had fled from his soiled country, yet he could not flee from his wife...he loved her too much. Therefore he had turned aside from Pelargir and the coasts of the Faithful where he had thought to settle, and instead went south to the northern reaches of the coasts of the King's Men. He would still live within Númenor's royal power but surely life in the hinterlands, even in the lands of the King's Men would be better, being far removed from the source.

And here he had settled as a compromise to his wife who would not leave the island. The dreaded label of traitor would not further tarnish his house and thereby put his family in peril. She could dwell in peace in the Númenor she still loved and he could dwell with greater peace of mind in the Middle-earth he grew to cherish. She could live with the riches and status his love provided and he could live with the knowledge that he had a beautiful wife who though sundered by a wide sea, was still his.

But now she was here, at her own request and to his utter delight. And yet he could not help but wonder. Amid his genuine happiness was a sense of doubt. Doubt for his son and for his wife. Narûphel had always favoured Abrazân who had always gone with his mother in most things. She had schooled him well in revering Númenor's status and glory and it had always been a source of contention between Azulzîr and his wife. That is why when the chance came he had separated them, calling for his son to come to Middle-earth and aid in the affairs of the estate. Narûphel was heartbroken by Abrazân's decision to leave her and it was still to be known whether she had forgiven Azulzîr for separating them. And now with the added support that his mother would surely give him, Abrazân was bound to further his black ambitions with zeal. Azulzîr truly felt he had failed his son and himself...for love. And yet not all was lost...for Narûphel had also given him a daughter. He still had Azrûphel, and she was all his where it mattered!

"My lord," said a voice that intruded upon Azulzîr's deep thought.

"Ah, Zadnazîr," Azulzîr replied. "I did not see you there."

"You were beholden to your thoughts," replied the estate master.

"You witnessed an indulgence in gentle contentment," Azulzîr returned.

"Well my lord, I just came to tell you that the preparations for the feast are underway."

"Good, good. And messengers have been sent with my invitations?"

"As soon as you and your family arrived my lord."

"Then all is well my friend," Azulzîr said with a creased smile. He then turned to the house with a strange look upon his face. A gentle gaze of joy that was somewhat tempered with a hint of sadness.

"Is everything alright my lord," asked Zadnazîr after a wistful pause.

"It is," Azulzîr replied with forced ease. "Let tonight be as warm a homecoming for my family as I could wish for. That is all I ask."

"Your household shall do all to make it so my lord," was Zadnazîr's staunch reply.

~oOo~

The crimson sunset set aflame the watery western horizon in a final play of receding light that gave way to the advancing black shadows of night. The black horse moved forward at a sluggish gait, its heavy hooves knocking out a weary tempo of long journeying upon the hard road. Its rider sat swaying gently in the saddle with hanging shoulders and a bowed head; the reins were loosely held in his gloved hands. He was robed and hooded in brown, but his dust ridden boots and leathered hands were black. Both rider and beast were a vision of weariness, but the end of their journey was near.

The road was set upon a lofty headland, overlooking the sea from the height of a sheer cliff rise of almost five hundred feet. It was broad and well made; evidence of its obvious importance. Tall walls of smooth black shining stone rose before the rider and his horse, and ahead stood a great steel barred gate, arched with a sturdy parapet. The traveler crept up to the flame lighted threshold where silent wardens opened the gate for him to enter. Before him spread a vast complex that housed many darkly shadowed buildings.

The broad road led on towards a great building that stood wide and imposing at its end. Many avenues branched of its path, hemmed with numerous dwellings and other buildings of self-sufficiency that served those who lived there such as dormitories, libraries and infirmaries. A range of agricultural and manufacturing buildings such as barns, forgeries and breweries lay further of to the south. Rising from the main building that lay ahead was a tall tower with a wavering red light at its horned summit. A great fire burned there, nestled in a rounded iron chamber that enclosed its light save where it opened wide to the west, like a flaming eye looking towards Númenor. Zôrtârik it was called, The Flame Pillar.

The lone rider made his way towards the black tower, ignoring the darkly robed denizens of the complex who mutedly went about their business with hardly a look towards him. There was a palpable heaviness in the twilight airs, a notable hush that could be felt and seen. All the peoples of that place spoke with low voices under their shading hoods, and stood close to each other in their intimate conversing. Others stood alone, half concealed in the darkening shadows with their hands raised to the evening sky as they mouthed soft prayers. A few shuffled soundlessly up and down the avenues or passed the rider upon the main road, flitting in and out of the dim lamp lights that lit the thresholds of the many buildings.

All was unnaturally quiet, save for the heavy dint of the forgeries that rang free in the subdued airs. Yet even their steely voices gave the sobering impression of ponderous hammer knells that rang out a grim call of order before an ominous sentence of doom. The tall shining black walls enclosed the complex in a vast circle and from the inside, one could now see many doors leading into it and many windows that gave sight out of it. Into those walls were delved armouries and many store-rooms for food and equipment. Atop the walled circumference walked many tall armoured soldiers, locked in ceaseless and vigilant patrol. This was Dolgutarîk, the Black Tower that was also known as Zigurbên's Keep.

The rider clasped the reins and drew them back, bringing his horse to a halt. Looming before him stood the grand yet sombre looking building, rising three stories with sturdy grey walls pocked with many arched windows all under a shallow tiled roof. The tall arched entrance was barred by two oaken doors and guarded by four wardens who stood upon either side of the threshold. They were almost as tall as the spear shafts they held. As the rider dismounted, the left oaken door opened and out came a robed figure that strode purposefully towards the rider who clasped his hands in front of him and waited expectantly.

"Must you be so laggard when we send for you?" the robed figure asked as it came. The voice was deep, held a note of vague irritation and came from a woman. The rider discerned her fiery eyes that stared at him from under the shadowy folds. He waited until she stood before him and then he bowed.

"Priestess Lômiphel," he said with a smile that was itching to sneer. "Have we done away with all courtesy that would have us seem no better than the whelps in the cage." Here he pointed to the iron barred box that was placed just beyond the far reaches of the splayed torch light of the doorway. Two unhappy slaves languished in their small prison, and both were naked save for the feeble loin cloths that covered their groins. "Surely that is not the way to greet an old acquaintance."

The priestess bristled a touch before sweeping away her hood to reveal a rich mane of flowing dark hair and a face of alluring beauty that sought to entice with its black-shadowed eyes that rumoured the hypnotic ability of a snake, and full lips painted with glistening crimson that voicelessly spoke of the dark pleasures of unbridled decadence. The rider's sneer dampened and he would have swore. He had forgotten how easily she affected men with her lustful beauty. The priestess noted his grudging appraisal and her long lashed eyes softened and her ready lips rose at the corners to a gentle smile of sympathy.

"Apologies Dolguthon," she chimed. "My manners escaped me." She then gave him a low cursty and rose to look upon him with a withering stare of seething contempt. The sudden change was startling but Dolguthon sighed as he was too weary for confrontations he was bound to lose. He raised a hand in supplication.

"Forgive me priestess," he said. "As you can see I am weary, both in body and mind. It has been a long arduous task and an even longer journey that has finally returned me here."

"That was foolish," said Lômiphel with flashing eyes, "and I would have the insolence whipped out of you for your disrespect. However you are not a fool, and whatever made you brazen enough to flout me must be worthy of my forgiveness."

"It is," said Dolguthon with a small bow of his head.

Lômiphel's soured face freshened a little. "You bring good news then?" she asked with checked excitement.

"I do," replied Dolguthon, his weary mood in stark contrast to the rising of hers.

"The task you were given," she said, clasping his arm with a trembling hand.

"Is done," nodded Dolguthon.

"And the proof of your deeds?" she begged.

"In here," answered the toying man, placing his hand upon a brown sack that hung from the saddle.

Lômiphel stared at the drawn sack with the heavy bulges and pushed Dolguthon aside as she went towards it. She lay her crimson tipped hands upon the ball-like contents, closed her eyes and feverishly caressed them.

"Great Múlkher be praised!" she breathed in a trembling whisper, repeating it over and over again.

Dolguthon watched her passionate display with as much dispassion as he could muster, yet her trembling body, her clasping hands and breathless praise from those glistening lips roused heats he thought best to deny. After all, he had yet to see his master and could not keep him waiting.

"Priestess," he said softly.

Lômiphel stilled herself and opened her eyes. They were glazed with the fervour of dark passions that came of her servile obedience to their god of darkness. The seeds of his grand plan for the Númenoreans, imparted to them by Sauron had been sown and the firstfruits of that plan were in her very hands. How could she not be overcome by that! Still, she had to pull herself together as much was still to be done. Lômiphel gained control of herself and turned her moist eyes to the man who was clearly in the agitated throes of an allayed arousal. She laughed inwardly at the easy effect of her charms but tonight was a good night. She would reward him well enough later.

"You have done well Dolguthon," she purred with playful ease.

"I live to serve my priestess," came his quiet reply. He looked away with a clenching jaw.

Lômiphel smiled lustfully and set a long finger to Dolguthon's cheek, tracing the hardening line of his jaw. "Indeed you do," she breathed. "And later perhaps we will serve our master...together."

Dolguthon gave her a querying yet hopeful glance but Lômiphel laughed and strode away towards the oaken doors.

"But you know what comes first," she called. "So please follow me."

Dolguthon released the sack from his saddle, flung it over his shoulder and followed after her.

A tall dark hooded silhouette stood watching all from a high unlit window. Its sharp piercing eyes had brightened when it saw the rider plodding towards its doors. They had brightened even more as they witnessed the rider and priestess converse beneath them. Then they had flamed as the priestess clasped the sack's contents in her quivering arms. A remorseless smile rose within the dark hood and the figure turned away from the view, satisfied. The first trickling stones had begun their long descent down the slopes of the Meneltarma. The first of the toppling heads that in due time would most surely lead to the awaited avalanche. The smile deepened with the dark thought. Indeed it was a good day to be a Black Númenorean.

* * *

><span>Author's Commentary:<span>

Here's another chapter to this ever darkening tale. I'm getting depressed just writing it!

As always, I hope you enjoy it! Thanx


	4. Broken Chains

**OF ANBOR AND AZRÛPHEL**

**Chapter Four...  
><strong>**"Broken Chains"**

Azrûphel stood ill at ease by the second floor landing near the doorway to her room. Sounds of a gathering, indulging in pleasure wafted up to her from the stairway that led down to the common room. There came a stream of crowded talk, peppered with occasional laughter, the clatter of plate and bottle, and the melodious strumming of a harp. Crystal Height's finest were come to a feast in honour of Azrûphel and Narûphel's arrival, and now awaited their grand entrance to the proceedings. Azrûphel was a bundle of nerves and Adûninzil was no help as she fidgeted with Azrûphel's dress, smoothing a crease here, folding an uneven hem there, now tampering with the silver circlet upon her brow, then positioning the jewelled necklace that was draped about her neck.

"Oh cease your pampering!" cried Azrûphel, unable to endure any more of it.

At once she was sorry, for her maiden immediately bowed her head and swiftly knelt before her lady in a pose of exaggerated supplication. Their earlier altercation still lay between them and Azrûphel had not the time to address it, since she had spent the rest of the day in the company of her brother. But as the hour of the feast drew near, Narûphel had ordered both to Azrûphel's room with clear instructions to beautify her daughter into nothing less than a goddess. That had been managed, but done in an air of uncomfortable silences. Azrûphel had wanted to break the deadlock, but she noted a sense of blame in her maiden's sulking, as if she expected an apology. Yet though Azrûphel had always been sisterly to her household's maidens, Adûninzil's boorish attitude now bordered on conceit, what with her terse manner and curt replies. But Azrûphel could play that game too, and since Adûninzil had admonished her for not behaving like a proud lady of Yôzâyan, Azrûphel therefore sought to remedy that thought by haughtily behaving as such. But seeing Adûninzil kneel before her touched a nerve of pity and self reproach, for this was a scene fit for her mother, and Narûphel she was not. Their fencing had gone far enough.

Azrûphel lowered herself to her maiden's kneeling form and sighed. "Adûninzil, what have we been doing?"

"Is my lady not pleased with my work?" replied her maiden.

"Oh stop it!" said Azrûphel, placing a hand to Adûninzil's chin and raising her eyes to hers. "We had a quarrel this morning," she said more softly. "Let it end there."

Adûninzil's eyes seemed to waver and she pressed down upon Azrûphel's hand to reconnect her sight to the floor. "I do not know what you mean my lady," she mumbled in reply. "Servants do not quarrel with their masters."

Azrûphel stared at her maiden for a moment with an expression that passed from surprise to irritation, and finally ended in exasperation.  
>"Ah, this is hopeless!" she cried, and swiftly rose to stand bristling with renewed attitude. "Very well," she conceded. "If this is how you want things to be between us, then so be it. You may go!"<p>

Adûninzil rose, gave a respectful curtsy and made off. Azrûphel closed her eyes and shook her head. She fancied she'd heard the departure of sobbing in Adûninzil's wake. Anger now arose in her at the thought of their petty situation. Yet who was the main culprit? Her mother no doubt, whose irritating accusations were regurgitated to her even by her maiden, whom she had thought would be on her side. A familiar antagonistic sense awoke in Azrûphel at the thought. She would get back at her mother for this.

A door closed and Azrûphel opened her eyes to see her mother's very self glide towards her with Urîphêr a step behind. Narûphel was also clad in white, a flowing gown that exquisitely clung to her figure and luxuriously cascaded to the floor. Shining gold bands encircled her supple arms and wrists, and a glittering array of twinkling jewellery adorned her neck. Her dark hair was free of braids and swept down to her waist, and about her brow was set a circlet of gold, engraved with images of the Mallorn tree, the emblem of Azulzîr's house. She looked a sight and even her daughter was impressed, though her show of it was somewhat skewed.

"Your majesty," purred Azrûphel as she gave her mother a sombre curtsy.

Narûphel halted before her with narrowing eyes. "That pertness of yours better end here," she demanded. "I want none of it for our guests, do you hear!"

Azrûphel was pleased with her mother's reaction. She bowed low, hoping to get more out of it. "As you wish my queen," she chirped.

Urîphêr naturally choked back her amusement, which Narûphel unfortunately heard. "Enough!" she thundered, whipping round to face her now trembling servant. "Away with you!" she blazed. Urîphêr wheeled away, half dashing back towards the door from which she had emerged. "Not that way little fool!" Narûphel called. "Did I not send you on an errand?"

"Yes my lady," replied the flummoxed girl. "I am to inform my lord of your readiness to come down. My apologies." She bowed low and fled to the stairway where she descended it with pace. Narûphel then turned back to her daughter where each glared at the other until Narûphel's expression softened with a weary sigh. She put out an arm and caressed her daughter's cheek.

"Whatever shall I do with you," she stated solemnly.

"You may do as you wish," returned Azrûphel. "After all, I am but here to serve your abuse."

"Abuse?" asked Narûphel with a raised brow. "And how am I guilty of that?"

"You would know best," Azrûphel replied. "Did you not send Adûninzil earlier this morning to admonish me for my perceived illicit behaviour?"

"I know not of what you speak," shrugged her mother.

"Indeed!" fired Azrûphel. "And you also had the gall to send my very father!"

Narûphel gave a feigned blank stare for a crackling moment before her expression darkened in stern retaliation. "And what of it?" she conceded. "Am I wrong in my concern for you? Always you seek to go against my advice. So I sent others more commendable to your affections, to persuade you to change your ways. Yet where Adûninzil so obviously failed, your father no doubt succeeded, forcing you to see the error of your wanton attitudes. And yet here you are, blaming me for the contention that lies between you and your maiden, though you know she was in the right."

"I blame you both for meddling!" cried Azrûphel.

"For the good of your welfare child, can you not see?" countered Narûphel. Azrûphel made no answer, as her blazing eyes, clenched jaw and fisted hands were reply enough. Narûphel returned her stubborn defiance with a look that bordered on pity and sighed again. "No," she remarked. "I suppose you do not." She then turned her eyes to the flow of her dress, smoothing away supposed creases with sweeping hands. "Well, I care not," she resumed. "My so called _"abuse"_ shall continue for as long as I see fit, until you are set right and brought into the fold one way or the other."

"Ah, you phrase your words well, mother," Azrûphel quipped in heated reply. "One would think you were recruiting me for the temples, as that was spoken like a true disciple of the Dark!"

Narûphel's look turned black as she bristled with controlled anger, and for the first time in her life, Azrûphel thought her mother would strike her. "Do not push me, daughter," Narûphel returned in a harsh undertone. "Now is most certainly not the time!"

Then as if on cue, Narûphel's statement was supported by a call for silence from below. The voices died down to a hushed silence that was broken by Azulzîr's clear tones. "My dear guests! Those of you who have already made their acquaintance have assured me of your delight to make it again. Yet those who have not have stated their eagerness to finally meet those two who are the most precious jewels in all my hoard. Therefore I would ask for all to rise and give a warm welcome to my beautiful wife, lady Narûphel, and my lovely daughter, lady Azrûphel!"

Narûphel straightened herself to as regal a pose as she could muster. "Do as I bid Azrûphel," she then said as she geared herself up for the reveal. "You will not embarrass our family this night!"

Azrûphel however did not hear her, for her anxiety resurfaced at thought of all those appraising eyes. She strove to calm herself, yet her failure was betrayed by a sudden bout of trembling. She felt a hand tenderly take hold of her own and slide its fingers through to clasp their palms together. "Worry not dearest," came Narûphel's softly spoken words of encouragement. "You will be fine."

Azrûphel was sure she heard laughter in her head, for her relationship with her mother was amusing. In one instance, they would argue vehemently, yet in the next they would lean on each other for genuine support. Such was the mode of love between them, always warm and cold. Azrûphel closed her eyes, focusing her thought upon the former; her mother's warm reassurance. She took a deep breath.

"Ready?" came Narûphel's soft query.

Azrûphel nodded. "Ready!"

And with that, they both started down the stairs, treading their way with graceful elegance to the welcoming cheers and applause of the enchanted crowd below.

~oOo~

Dolguthon sat at his ease, staring at the flames that crackled and hissed in the great fireplace of the hall. They flickered and danced before him in hues of wavering yellow, hot red and searing blue, consuming the heavy oaken logs with greed. _"Flames,"_ thought Dolguthon as he eyed their garish performance. All was tainted by flame. The flame of hatred in his peoples mood, the flame of obsessive belief in their religion, and the flame of dark purpose in their deeds. It was a wonder the Nûmenoreans had not burst into flame themselves, searing away flesh and bone to reveal their true selves; fiery spirits that would raze all they surveyed to the ground if they could be masters of the ashes. Dolguthon sniggered at the hot thought, his dark eyes reflecting the stabbing tongues of heat before him. _"And I have lit the spark that shall bring forth the ultimate fire-storm,"_ he mused.

The gentle knock of earthenware on wood nudged his thoughts to awareness, and he turned to see a loin-clothed slave set a plate of bread and dried fish upon the table behind him. A flagon of wine awaited him also. The slave bowed low and receded into some shadowy recess of the dimly lit hall. It was a refectory of sorts, long of length and crowned with an arched roof ribbed with sturdy pine for its support. Along the hall's entire length were two long benches set against both walls and their adjoining tables that lay upon legs of stone. At the far inner end was the fireplace before which Dolguthon sat, bathed in its wavering orange light. Candles burned at intervals upon the tables, but their flickering light was feeble and much of the hall was shrouded in shadows and darkness; just the way the priests and their acolytes preferred it. Such was the realm of their God after all.

Dolguthon looked at the fish with distaste. It was a paupers meal given to him, and he might have been annoyed by the intent of his host to serve him such fare. But hungry though he was, he did not relish a meal be it meagre or otherwise. His eyes turned to the brown sack that was set upon the floor beside him. A dark patch spread at its base and from it issued a foul stench of rot. It was enough to put off even the famished. He reached for the wine instead and downed it all in one go. He then turned back to the fire with the flagon still in hand, tracing a circular path about its rim with a finger. He felt the wine's heat course through him, complementing the warmth of the blaze. _"All are flames,"_ he thought again as a log took a tumble in a shower of hot sparks and ash. He closed his eyes to the tingling numbness that swelled in his head. The wine was good, but at an advantage. He had drunk on an empty stomach after all.

Hands were gently placed upon his shoulders, and slithered their palms down to his chest. Dolguthon suddenly jolted to his feet, with a hand that instinctively went for his weapon. "Easy now," purred a voice. Dolguthon turned to see priestess Lômiphel smiling deliciously with her hands raised. His own hand fell away from his dagger hilt in recognition. "Such an assassin you are," said Lômiphel with scornful amusement, "to be caught unawares with such ease."

Dolguthon's face darkened a tint. "I am weary as you well know," he replied, "and the wine was good."

"Too good it seems," said Lômiphel. "But weariness and good wine are weak excuses for one of your ilk. It is a wonder you returned to us at all, let alone with success." She laughed then at his scowl and turned her back on it. "Come!" she called as she walked away. "The Lord Priest will now see you."

Dolguthon set the flagon down, took up the foul sack and followed after the priestess. They passed out of the hall, through a doorway that led into a short passage which came to a sparse room that held an iron barred gateway that was guarded by two silent sentinels. The gate was open and they went through it, into a wide passage that turned left in a curve. A short way ahead the floor fell away in a series of broad steps that led down to a guardroom. Piles of firewood were stocked in a corner and shelves that held an array of armour, hugged the walls in another. A bright hearth lighted the centre wall and before it was placed a small rack from which hung meats and plucked game. A table stood nearby, laden with flagons, plates and utensils. The walls were bare save for dark banners that held the emblem of the Dark Priests; a red tower with an orange globe at its summit that was wreathed in yellow flame.

Another arched doorway led out of the guardroom and they took to it, passing down another passage whose floor sloped downward to an ill lit room that was obviously meant for torture. Its dark walls were ill plastered, dirty, and lined with cages, one or two of which held lifeless bodies, all broken and bloodied. The dismal room was littered with chains, manacles and other devices of cruelty. A large rack was planted at the centre and judging by the glistening stains of blood smeared upon its cold metal, had been recently used. Standing by it was a tall man, robed and hooded in black. His face was shadowed, but his eyes gleamed in the torch-light at the pairs approach.

Priestess Lômiphel bowed low when she was stood before him. "I have brought him Lord Priest," she said without rising. Dolguthon fell to one knee behind her, and bowed his head. The burning eyes absorbed their obeisance with satisfaction.

"Rise," said Lord Zigurbên. His voice was deep, rich and commanding. The priestess and Dolguthon both rose as one. "So," he continued, "Lômiphel reports that you return to us with success?"

Dolguthon gave a grave nod of his head. "I have done as you bid my lord."

Lord Zigurbên took a step forward. "Show me!" he demanded.

Dolguthon took the sack and went to a nearby table. There he emptied its contents, as the eyes of both the Lord Priest and his priestess flamed with black anticipation. Dolguthon grimaced a little at what he brought to light. The stench of rot pierced the already putrid airs of the chamber, and he had to take command of himself so as not to gag. Yet the priest and priestess seemed oblivious to the noxious unpleasantness. They both moved eagerly to the table and Dolguthon guessed that the Lord Priest's hidden face was just as his priestess', filled with utter delight. There, tumbled upon the table in a ghastly pile were five decomposing heads, all caked in dried blood and foul matter. Expressions of agony could be discerned upon some while the rest were too maimed to make out. The Lord Priest stalked an eyeing path around the table as the priestess lowered her twitching face to the gaudy mess.

Lord Zigurbên presently came to a halt and clasped his hands before him. "So, I finally have the chieftains of the five Sunland tribes as my guests."

"You have my lord," said Dolguthon. "They were not easy in the persuasion, but each finally accepted your summons."

Lord Zigurbên laughed. "So it appears," he replied.

"Great Múlkher's plan is now in motion," said Lômiphel as she caressed the blood matted hair of one head. "Now shall his favour upon the Black Nûmenoreans be seen, and our power shall soon rise to very throne of Armenelos!"

"So it shall," the Lord Priest concured. There was a satisfied pause before he turned to Dolguthon. "You have done well, disciple."

"I live to serve, as always," Dolguthon returned with a bow.

"Indeed, you have achieved a great feat," said Lord Zigurbên, "as I am assured of the difficulties you had in procuring these dainties."

"Verily my lord," replied Dolguthon. "Many of my companions died in the task, and only I and one other made it back past the mountains, with the frenzied hordes at our heels. And still he died of a poisoned wound."

"And are the wild savages riled enough to our purpose?" asked Lord Zigurbên, moving along the report. He was uninterested in tales of the demise of agents who had failed him.

"They are my lord," Dolguthon replied. "Vengeance rules the heart of every savage in the east, and their hatred is directed at one people, the Númenoreans. Even now they are mustering their hordes, and soon shall swarm over the high passes of the Miniltârik, to attack."

"And when that day comes these lands will be swept clean of the Pretenders," declaimed the Lord Priest with a sudden fervour. "And we, the _True Black Númenoreans,_ who began our worship of the Dark more than a thousand years hence, shall claim sole power over our nation!" He turned then to a black corner. "Come!" he commanded.

Again a ragged slave materialised from the shadows, carrying a tray with three flagons. The Lord Priest, Lômiphel and Dolguthon each took a cup. It was a dark red wine. The slave bowed and backed away respectfully, fading into some black corner.

Lord Zigurbên raised his flagon, "To our power!" he rumbled.

"Our power!" the other two cried. They downed their toast in unison.

Dolguthon wiped his mouth with a sleeve, and looked at his empty flagon a little wistfully. The flavour had been exquisite. "From Crystal Height I see."

"The occasion deserved a good wine," said Lord Zigurbên. "And now greater pleasures await you."

Lômiphel gave Dolguthon a lustful stare but Lord Zigurbên laughed. "Nay my dear priestess. Find another to share your bed in celebration. Dolguthon however shall indulge in pleasures of a more exotic nature this night."

A fleeting disappointment passed over the priestess' face before she bowed and turned to leave. Dolguthon watched her go with his own look of frustration, but he felt the firm hand of the Lord Priest upon his shoulder. "You were looking forward to that I deem," he queried with an dark leering smile.

Dolguthon lowered his eyes, a little embarrassed. "I look forward to whatever pleasures your grace might afford me, my lord," he replied.

"Ah," said Lord Zigurbên with amusement held in his shining eyes, "The Laying Rituals are but a matter of worship for us. And many have lain with Priestess Lômiphel, for she is good...she is very good. But I give you a chance to lay with that which is sweeter, purer and more potent of the spirit." Dolguthon looked at the Lord Priest with a questioning eye. "Indeed, tonight you shall savour my own personal flights of fancy. Follow me."

With that, Lord Zigurbên moved towards a further doorway that was barred with iron. Dolguthon felt a nervous kick in the pit of his stomach. That door led to the keep's dungeons. He hesitated where he stood but Lord Zigurbên paused and turned. "Follow," came his slow command. The assassin forced himself forward, his mind whirling with dark thoughts of sudden betrayal. They reached the barred exit, which swung open at the pull of a guard from the other side. A dank passage led on, and in its stony walls from which hung patches of wet green moss and slime, were many cell doors of steel. Low moans of pain and despair could be heard emanating from those pits. The Lord Priest turned to Dolguthon and in the torchlight, the assassin could see the tip of a hooked nose and a sneer of a smile shaded within the recesses of the dark hood. "Prepare to partake in the delights of your betters Dolguthon," he said, before leading him into the bowels of the damned of Dolgutarîk.

~oOo~

Laughing faces, gorging mouths, lustful stares, coy glances, dancing couples, draping bodies, all under a shroud of dim lighting, perfumed airs and softly strumming music. Such was the lay of the banquet, and the feasting that Azrûphel oversaw with a sardonic eye. She stood alone in a corner, half hidden behind a huge nodding palm leaf. She was weary after the long routine of niceties to the important of Crystal Height. She had shaken hands, bowed to and curtsied before what seemed like an endless gaggle of strangers, many of whom carried themselves with airs and graces of which she thought none actually had. There was master Sakalthon, a portly man who had introduced himself as the third greatest estate master of the region, and was related in some vague fashion to a high lord of the Royal Council. His wife was weighty too, but plain of face and dour of mood, which probably explained his secret fondling of the giggling mistress Zôrinzil, the impish daughter of master Gimlizîr, the fifth or was it sixth most important estate master in those parts. And was that mistress Pharâzarî, the saucy wife of the Port Master, tempting young Ûrîzagar, the son of master Belkhôr of Cloven Bay, outside for a little one on one. And there was master...Azrûphel sighed, for she had endured such lecherous gatherings before many a time in Nûmenor. But here upon the shores of Middle-earth, Azrûphel had hoped people were different, yet ultimately she was disappointed.

"Well there you are," said a voice. Azrûphel turned to it and gave the speaker a disinterested glance before turning back to her discerning vigil. It was another young man, some master's son no doubt who thought to try his hand in wooing. "I have been looking everywhere for you," he sauntered, "and have found you at last!"

"Well good for you, and damnable for me," Azrûphel quipped in reply. She'd had enough of his sort for the night.

The young man stood a moment in dumbfounded silence. "My lady," he finally stammered, "I...I only meant to..."

"Disturb me," finished Azrûphel. And in truth he was, for she nearly missed mistress Lôminzil ascending the stairway in the clutches of a man who clearly was not her husband, for he was draped upon a couch in a drunken stupor.

"My lady Azrûphel," resumed the annoying man. "I only wish to talk..."

"About what?" she overlaid again.

"About how you may need some schooling in manners," came his reply. Azrûphel was about to fire back an answer when the sheer insolence of his words became apparent. She slowly turned to face him.

"What did you say?" she asked with simmering deliberation.

He opened his mouth to speak when a familiar voice sounded behind her. "So, the two of you have met at last."

"We have," said Azrûphel with narrowed eyes that blazed at the offending upstart. "And now one of us is leaving," she ended, signalling the brazen young man to be off with a flick of her head.

However, the only movement the young man made was to fold his arms. "Well, you may go," he returned, to her bristling incredulity. "It is not that hard. You put the left foot down first and follow with the right." It were Abrazân's staying hands that saved him from Azrûphel's murderous lunge.

"Whoa now," he cried as he placed himself between them. "This is not how your first meeting was supposed to be."

"Did you hear what he said to me?!" spat Azrûphel, who was all glare and fisted fury.

Abrazân smiled and leaned his head back to the chortling young man behind him. "Did I not say she is a handful?"

"Of the wildest kind," the young man replied with a smirk.

Azrûphel turned her angered glance to her brother. "Do not jest Abrazân," she hissed. "I warn you!"

"Then calm yourself sister," her brother implored, "for your curt manner towards this man has been misplaced." At that, Azrûphel stilled herself and her fisted hands fell to her sides. However, her inflamed expression showed no signs of abating. "Good," said Abrazân as he let her go. He then moved to one side and put a hand upon each of their shoulders. "Lady Azrûphel," he then said. "This is master Avalozîr, son of master Avalobên, of our neighbouring estate. He is also my closest and dearest friend."

Azrûphel stared at Abrazân a moment, then turned her dampening gaze to Avalozîr. "Then why did you not say so?" she demanded.

"If given half the chance I would have my lady," he returned with a grin. Azrûphel could only pout, but he bowed low. "Forgive me lady, for I did not mean to be rude, nor anger you with offence."

Azrûphel's expression softened, yet she could not let go of all her annoyance. "Up with you!" she commanded as she held out a hand which he took and kissed. "So, what else has my brother said about me?"

"I will not say," Avalozîr replied, "for fear of more violence done upon me. Yet I will say that all report of your looks has been nowhere near the truth, for you are truly a sight of beauty to behold!"

Abrazân laughed. "And I say again that I left an awkward little girl in Nûmenor, who now comes to us as a princess among ladies."

"Enough of your flattery, the both of you," said Azrûphel with an imperious air. "I have little time for it, or you." She then looked about her with an exaggeration of distaste. "What I need is a breath of fresh air."

"We could join you outdoors my lady," said Avalozîr.

"If I wanted your company, I should ask for it," replied Azrûphel with a sniff. "But as I have not, I will take my leave." She gave a curt bow and left them gazing after her. They did not see her smile.

"Again, she is a handful," said Abrazân.

"And again, of the wildest and most delightful kind," replied Avalozîr. Abrazân did not see his smile also.

Azrûphel passed out of the open doorway and into the night. The garden was strewn with a display of golden light, for lamps were twinkling among the grape vines entwined in the arbours, and hung shining from the ash tree branches, and sat glowing in showy arrangement beside the cascading fountains. And more light came from nature itself as a full moon rode the sky, lacing the nightscape with hues of silver and grey. A few guests could be seen at their leisure, strolling about the lawns, or seated by the fountains, or fondling by the hedges; all with a drink in hand and content in their faces. The gentle tune of the harp wafted about the place, complementing the airs of joy with its serenity. Azrûphel marvelled at the vision before her and wondered why she had spent all her time in the cramped indoors. There was such beauty here, and peace. Indeed, it reminded her of the nights aboard the deck of the Rôthgimil as compared with the cloying innards of the cabin. Her thoughts then went to old Balkazîr, and she wondered if he now looked upon the same full moon, from the watery-scape of the sea. She gave a wistful sigh as she looked up to the vast expanse of the glittering Ilmen.

It were voices that broke the enchantment, and Azrûphel turned to them and noted two men standing by the shrubs of golden jasmine. They were clad in silver armour that winked in the light beneath their flowing black cloaks. She then remembered the forts she had seen from her balcony. Could they be some of the soldiers her father had told her about? Azrûphel found herself walking towards them for an answer. They noted her approach and ceased their conversing, bowing low when she came to a halt before them.

"My lady Azrûphel," said one. Tall he was with greying hair and a fair yet stern face. His silver armour was of a splendour that surpassed the other, and upon the chest was a graven image of a hill with an orb at its summit. It were plain he was a soldier of distinction. "It is an honour to meet you in person," he continued. "I am Captain Arnazagar, master of the forts of Crystal Height." Azrûphel curtsied gracefully to him. "And this is Lieutenant Aglarân," he said, gesturing to his companion. He was a young man, all of dark shoulder length hair and sharp grey eyes upon a handsome face that held a cleft in the chin.

Aglarân bowed again. "I am honoured to meet you my lady." he said with a charming smile.

Azrûphel returned it. "The honour is misplaced, for it is I who honour you who keep us safe from all perils."

"My lady's words are too kind," replied Aglarân. "And I am comforted in your presence, as one of such beauty is reminder enough of the blessed jewels of Nûmenor that we as soldiers strive to protect."

Azrûphel blushed a little and lowered her gaze to hide it. Captain Arnazagar turned to his smiling junior and gave him a disapproving shake of his head. "Forgive the pertness of my lieutenant, my lady," he said. "Yet we are thankful for your gracious words."

Azrûphel raised her head and gave a nod. She then seemed to hesitate a moment, to the querying look of the others. "So I would ask if I may," she finally stammered.

"What is it my lady?" asked Arnazagar.

"My father told me of the forts and the reasons for your garrisons," she began. "I mean to ask if...well if all is well with our situation."

Captain Arnazagar gave a nod of realisation. "Worry not my lady," he reassured. "In all my long years of service the wild men have never attacked us. They are a feeble people who rather cower before us in fear."

"Indeed," put in Aglarân. "The soldiery of Nûmenor is here only to enhance that fear in their simple minds. They have not the armies, nor courage, nor discipline to be of any tangible threat to us. Nay my lady, do not trouble yourself with such thoughts. Rather enjoy the lands that we have conquered," here he gestured to the shimmering garden, "and the fruits of your father's labour. Think of us only as silent overseers, a rumour of strength and safety that watches from the dim recesses of a prosperous peace."

Azrûphel again gave a smile which the young lieutenant mirrored in return. His words comforted her, and behind his gaze was a warmth that cozened her with its confidence. Who was this tall handsome soldier, so gracious in word and noble in bearing? Perhaps she could find out more of him in the coming days. She blushed again at the secret thought.

A faint cheer, peppered with jolly laughter then came to their ears from afar. Not from the house it seemed, but away in the direction of the homestead's orchards. Azrûphel's strained to listen with a furrowed brow. "What joyful rumour is that which I hear?" she asked, almost to herself.

"That must be the merrymaking of those in your father's service," replied Arnazagar, with a glance in that direction. "Household hands, servants, and probably his sailors too."

"The sailors!" exclaimed Azrûphel, forgetting herself before the two grave men. She thought excitedly of her friend the boatswain. Could it be that he also was there?

"Is everything all right my lady?" asked Aglarân in wonder as to her sudden exhilaration.

Azrûphel turned to them. "Forgive me captain," she said to Arnazagar. "But I must take my leave." She then turned to Aglarân and gave a slight bow. "Lieutenant," she said in parting. With that, she was off, as swiftly as she could walk without tripping over the flow of her dress.

She took to the main garden path that was paved with white stone. It passed under an arbour, which sheltered the path for many yards down the garden, and ended by a junction as a vine shrouded exit that was hemmed by two tall marble carvings of the mallorn. Here the path split in two, forking to the left and sloping on ahead.  
>The left path ran towards the dark greenery of a hedge, piercing through it in a leafy archway that held a small gate, and joined with a wide gravel track that began beneath the windows of the house as a circular trackway and led down to the main entrance to the homestead, with its heavy iron gate set between two white-walled guardhouses. Many carriages were parked there, and all along the track's length. From Azrûphel's vantage point, all the gravel track was hidden behind the bordering hedge that ran parallel with it, from gate to wall, yet she espied a few drivers from over the top of the hedgerow, languishing in their seats, while some were held in cheery conversation with the homestead guards.<p>

The path Azrûphel took continued onward, dipping to the lower gardens, with their wide lawns and luscious ponds. To her immediate right were the homestead cottages, pleasant dwellings about whom stood great ash trees and many shrubs of oleander and gardenias. Behind the cottages came the storehouses for the tilled fare of the estate. The airs were heavily scented with Jacaranda which grew prominently here among the many stacks of barrels, crates and kegs. And so she came to the orchards, with their rows of apple, orange and lemon trees that sweetened the airs with the scent of citrus.

It was a warm night, yet a great bonfire lay before her and around it stood many men, while others sat upon crates, all of whom were a picture of joviality. She halted for a moment, her thoughts unwillingly harking back to her chiding mother. _"But she is away in the main house,"_ Azrûphel said to herself. _"How will she ever know I am here."_ With that convincing thought, she resumed her approach, peering as she came for a sight of her old friend.

A shout went up and all the men paused and turned to her. It grew so quiet that the roaring of the flames became deafening.

"Why it's our Sea Mistress!" exclaimed one.

"You're right Rôthzîr," said another. "But how is she here with us?"

"You unheeding fools!" quipped a third. "She's here for the boatswain no doubt. His charms must have got the better of her."

The laughter that broke out was so loud it could have been heard in Umbar. Azrûphel bowed her head with sheer embarrassment, but one came towards her and she looked up to an ageing weatherbeaten face. It was Balkazîr.

"Well met my dear," he said with a broad smile. Azrûphel sighed with elation, put out her hands and took a step towards him, but Balkazîr swiftly held out a halting hand. "Nay my lady!" he said softly. "Nowhere would that be proper and moreso be it here at your father's house. I am but your humble servant." He then bowed low to which she replied him with a sweet curtsy. The men behind all began to cheer and laugh, and gave a string of lewd comments and observations.

"Come my lady," said Balkazîr, glancing at his fellows with a dark eye. "Let us distance ourselves from this offensive company." He then turned towards the house but Azrûphel stopped him.

"Nay, not that way," she pleaded. "I may be seen." Azrûphel then turned to the rows of the orchard. "Let us walk among the trees."

Balkazîr hesitated, glancing nervously in the direction of the great house, and back to her. "My lady," he stammered. "I do not think it wise or pro..."

"I know, I know," she said, taking his hand and dragging him along, "You do not think it proper. But you are my friend Balkazîr, whatever others may think or prescribe." She cocked an accusing eye at the sailors, many of whom slyly winked in return. "But I care not. Let us share a little time for ourselves." They then left the merry men behind and walked at their leisure among the grey shadows of the orange trees.

"I thought you were miles away, sailing to some southerly port," said Azrûphel.

"Aye my lady," Balkazîr replied. "That was the plan. Yet your gracious father thought to delay our voyage, and include us in tonight's merrymaking."

"And how are your feet?"

"My lady?" said Balkazîr, a little perturbed.

"The ground...wounding your feet when on land!" Azrûphel replied with a mischievous grin.

"Oh that!" exclaimed the boatswain. And he laughed then, long and cheerfully. "Well my lady, it has only been a few hours, but ask that of me in the morning." They walked again in silence, wandering aimlessly through the shadowy rows.

"So how was it to see your dear father again?" asked Balkazîr after a pleasant while.

"It was wonderful," Azrûphel replied. "I still find it hard to believe that I am here with him. And this beautiful home surpassed all my wildest expectations."

"Then all is well," said Balkazîr with a satisfied sigh. "And for that I am glad."

"Indeed all is well," said Azrûphel with a face that seemed to belie her words as it curiously became grave. "And I am happy...happier than I have felt in a long while. I could be content here Balkazîr, and not just for a season."

The boatswain laughed. "Not a full day and night has passed, yet you have already decided to root yourself to Crystal Height."

Azrûphel halted and turned to him. Balkazîr's smile died when he saw her sombre face. "And why should you laugh at that boatswain?" she asked. "I have had a good life in Yôzâyan. I live in a fine mansion, and am waited upon by servants. I don myself in exquisite dresses and wear the finest jewellery. Yet I feel the need for more than Yôzâyan's material wealth."

"And you feel Númenor cannot give you what you seek?" asked Balkazîr.

"It can," came her grave reply. "But I do not think I want it. Not from Yôzâyan."

Balkazîr looked closely at the young woman who stood before him. Her sight had fallen to stare almost mournfully at the ground that lay before her feet. The moon's rays shone upon her, shimmering the white hue of her dress, and set aflame the silver circlet about her brow and the bejewelled necklace about her slender neck with white fire. _"As beautiful yet as sorrowful as an elf maiden,"_ thought the boatswain. _"There is more that lies behind her words that even she does not know or yet understand."_ He sighed and felt more fatherly to her than ever before. "Come now," he said softly, raising her chin with a tender finger. "Do not be so glum, for tonight is the celebration of your reunion with your father and brother." He looked back to the great house, all bathed in twinkling lights. "Speaking of which, I think it is time to return, for I am sure they have missed you and are now worried in the searching."

Azrûphel gazed at him with a weak smile and eyes that glistened with some unknown emotion. Before the boatswain could say aught she set her slender arms about him in a warm embrace. Balkazîr held his hands high for an astonished instant, before relenting to return her affection. Suddenly there was a harsh shout, and calling voices rose in the dark. Balkazîr swiftly released Azrûphel and looked about him fearfully. Yet the calls and shouting came from the opposite direction of the house, and judging by the swearing and growling tones, did not come from the master and his kind.

Azrûphel stood still and tense, with wide eyes that searched the shadows of the trees about them. Then there was a movement some way ahead. A dark figure of a man maybe, crouching among the dark stems. "Balkazîr!" she whispered. "Someone is hiding in the trees over there." she pointed ahead as Balkazîr followed her gesture and saw a distant black shape lower itself to the ground on all fours and crawl.

"Come my lady," he said, taking her hand and leading her away, in the direction of the house. "Mischief is afoot, and you should be nowhere near it!" But Azrûphel could not help but look back, her curiosity having been aroused to douse her fear. The calls grew louder and suddenly, more shadows appeared to her sight, and one dove to the ground, bringing forth a terrible cry of agony.

"Balkazîr, someone is hurt!" she cried. With a lightning twist of her arm she was free of the boatswain's grip, and already flying back towards the shadowy figures. Balkazîr gaped after her before swearing, and followed in her wake at as swift a dash as his old legs could muster.  
>Azrûphel rushed forward, ignoring the twigs and leaves that slapped at her face. The figures grew as she drew near, and the light of the full moon began to illuminate them with clarity. Four tall men they were, attired in dirty leather, and adorned with ill-favoured looks. Her running steps faltered for fear at the sight of these grim men, but Balkazîr was sure to be following, and the sailors were not that far off. The reassuring thought emboldened her to resume her final approach at a cautious walk.<p>

"And what have we here?" said one, with a leering eye that appraised her from head to toe. "A swan of a lass if ever there was one."

"Lost are you?" said another. "The palace is easy enough to see from here. You're going the wrong way!" There were muffled cries and sounds of a struggle that came from behind them.

Azrûphel plucked up her courage. "I heard a..." A gasping from behind had her turn to it. Balkazîr staggered up, wheezing his strain. The men all laughed.

"Azrû...phel!" he muttered between drawn breaths. He was hunched over with a clutching hand to his burning chest. "How...could you...rush...off...like that?"

"I'm impressed father," said the first. "Is she yours?" All Balkazîr could do from his humped position was raise a waving hand of denial. The men seemed unconvinced and laughed again. "And at your hoary age," the man continued. "What's your secret?"

"What is yours?" demanded Azrûphel. She had listened to the vile insinuations with rising anger. And she was greatly concerned, for it were plain someone was being ill treated behind them.

"What do you mean my little princess?" asked the forth.

"What violence occurs behind you?"

"That my little swan is none of your concern," said the first. There was a hint of menace in his gruff voice. It were then that old Balkazîr finally got a hold of himself and stood up straight to face them.

"Forgive us my lads," he said in apology, eliciting a furrowed stare from Azrûphel. "She knows nothing of your business, and is a little startled is all. Think nothing of it for I shall return her immediately to her parents."

But Azrûphel was having none of that. "You shall do no such thing until I find out what is going on here!" she stormed. Her anger whipped back to the men. "Now step aside and let me pass!"

"Isn't she a bold bit of fluff," quipped the second with an ugly grin.

"Gah! What does it matter," called a deep voice from behind the ruffian-like screen. "Let her see if she wants."

The four men complied, parting to each side. Revealed before Azrûphel was the largest ruffian of all, but it was what he held before him that made her gasp. It was a short yet stocky man of broad build and lank black hair. His hands were manacled as were his ankles, though the chain there was broken. There were severe cuts and dark bruises about his hands and legs and his face was bloodied and marred by terrible fist inflicted wounds. His left eye was swollen shut. Azrûphel could only stare at the sorrowful vision of beaten misery that stood before her. Why had they...then it dawned on her. She was convinced she now looked upon a slave.

"My lady," came Balkazîr's tentative voice. "I really must insist that we return to your father."

"And why should she do that?" asked the huge brute. "She wanted to have a look, let her!" He then shoved the captive forward until he stood but inches away from Azrûphel's face. "See little deary," he growled. "Here's what had you so concerned. Is this what you wanted to save?" Azrûphel made no answer. She hardly heard him. Her fearful eyes roved about the abused body that stood before her, taking in each festering cut and seeping wound, the filth of the tunic and the stench that came from it. And then her wavering sight made contact with the one good eye. In it was fear, despair and helplessness. Whatever boldness that had this man attempt to flee had been beaten beyond recall and memory. What shone before her in that dark pupil was utter dejection, but there was something more...something buried deep. However, Azrûphel came to recognise it and she flinched. It was a deep seeded hatred.

Azrûphel took a step back and found that she was trembling. The brute smiled as he roughly drew the slave back and flung him to his mates. "Take that back to the pen!" he growled. "Nay, throw it in the pit! I'm not done with him yet." He then turned back to Azrûphel, who seemed to stare ahead with unseeing eyes. "Frightened of it are you?" he smirked, noticing her trembling. He looked at Balkazîr. "Take the little swan back to her cosy nest old man, I think she's seen enough." With that, he turned his bulk and followed after his companions. Yet he could not resist a parting shot. "And hold her tight tonight," he called, "as her dreams shall be filled with nightmarish delights!" His harsh laughter faded away as the dark leaves began to rustle and sigh all about them. Balkazîr gently put his hands upon Azrûphel's shoulders.

"Come my dear girl," he said softly. "Let me return you home."

They made their way back through the rows, headed towards the distant smoke and orange light of the bonfire that flickered between the boles. The old man was thoughtful, yet disquietened, glancing at his lady at times with a concerned eye. But she said no word or showed any emotion as she walked beside him. The light of the blaze grew brighter and louder came the hearty laughter and cries of the sailors as they drew near. They had reached the edge of the orchard when Azrûphel suddenly halted and stood staring at the cheery men.

"Are you all right child?" Balkazîr asked, placing a gentle hand upon her shoulder.

Azrûphel looked up to his elderly face. "You knew of those men, did you not?" she asked. There was a hint of accusation in her tone.

Balkazîr sighed. "Yes my lady, I knew. They are the estate's slave handlers. Theirs is a grim work and I am sorry you witnessed the darker side of it. For at times a slave may attempt to escape his captivity..."

"Only to be caught and savagely beaten," said Azrûphel as she lowered her mournful gaze.

"I am afraid so, my dear," Balkazîr replied. "Such is the way of it."

"Where are the slaves housed?" asked Azrûphel. "And how are they treated when at work?"

"There are simple huts made for them that lie beyond the orchards," the boatswain replied, "and they labour under the threat of the lash, as all slaves do."

There fell another windy silence between them as they both watched the sailors lively carousal with grave orange lit faces.

"I heard of the plight of slaves in Yôzâyan," murmured Azrûphel, wincing a little at a roar of oblivious laughter from the men. "Yet hearing of it from afar is not the same as seeing it up close. And here we are, feasting and merrymaking while others endure the most ghastly of mistreatments within these very walls."

"So it has been in the estates of our people for many, many years," Balkazîr replied. "But did you not say once that the glory of Númenor would be diminished had it not men to sail to distant lands and extend her power? This is but a face of that conquest. It is both good and ill."

"But is it necessary Balkazîr?" asked Azrûphel as she turned her moist eyes to him. "If the price of that glory has made our people so, then it is of a worth too big for our hands. Noble men and women of Yôzâyan we call ourselves, but is that still true of us?"

"Those slave handlers are not of a noble kind," said Balkazîr.

"But neither are their so called _noble masters_ who dwell in the opulence of their proud mansions," Azrûphel returned. "It is by their command that the poor people of the surrounding wilds are captured and drawn into a life of forced toil and abuse."

"Would you then speak so of your father?" asked Balkazîr.

"What I witnessed occurred in his estate did it not? And are there not slaves here, labouring for him in the fields? Yet I disavow my own sense of nobility. For I gave little thought to what I heard about such things. I turned a blind eye as do all the _noble women_ of Yôzâyan, be they upon the Isle or upon these shores."

"Few of Númenor's noble women are blind to such things my lady," said Balkazîr. "But such is the will and policy of the king, and if we should follow him as people of the King's Men, then this is our chosen path."

"Then it is a dreadful path, which can only lead our people to darkness."

"Truly so," said Balkazîr with a sigh. "For such is the realm of our chosen God."

Azrûphel looked at the old boatswain with wide eyes that hinted her growing apprehension as to his words. She thought of her mother and her devotion to the dark religion that the masses now followed. How could her people be so blinded? Her thoughts then went to the Rebels and their cause, and she began to realise without a doubt, that they were not wrong as was preached so often in Númenor. They yearned rather for the Light and the good that came with it. Not the Dark which brought forth hateful dissensions, the likes of which she feared all but surrounded the people of the King's Men in the hinterlands.

"I beheld such hatred in that slave's eye," said Azrûphel in a low voice, "such as will long haunt my thoughts."

At that moment a figure appeared from beyond the blazing fire, coming down the path that led from the house. It was her brother Abrazân.

"You are sought for my lady," said Balkazîr, peering uncomfortably at his approach. "You had better go to him at once."

Azrûphel gave a nod. "And when will I see you again?" she asked, looking up to the boatswain's face as she took hold of his hand.

"Maybe never," he replied. "If they find out what occurred with you this night..."

"Worry not," she cut in, "for I shan't tell them." With that, Azrûphel reached up and planted a swift kiss upon Balkazîr's cheek. Then she turned away, emerging from the leafy shadows of the trees to the stares and smirks of the sailors.

"A fair evening to you all," Abrazân called in greeting as he approached the throng.

"The same to you my lord," came the crowded reply.

"I am searching for my sister, the lady Azrûphel. Has anyone seen her?"

"I am here," she called from beyond the flames.

Abrazân swiftly went over to her, with a look of concern upon his face. "What are you doing all the way down here," he asked as he put his arms about her. "Father is worried as to your whereabouts." Azrûphel gave him a nervous glance as she thought of a satisfying answer.

"She was with us my lord," uttered one of the sailors.

Abrazân turned to him with a querying look. "Oh?" There was a little suspicion in his gaze.

"Verily lord," said another. "Lady Azrûphel made friendships with us upon the voyage, strange as that may seem. And so she came to us to share a final toast to the joys of her reunion with you and your father, which she spoke much of during the trip."

"Indeed, and a fair lady she is, my lord," said a third, "to recall her friendships with those of a lower state, and grace us with her delightful presence here on land, as she did upon the high sea."

Abrazân turned to his sister who blinked at him innocently. He gave a thin smile. "Well, I thank you for looking after her," he said. "But I fear she must leave you now and return to where she belongs." He took her by the hand. "Come, let us go." With that, they began towards the great house to the murmurs of, "farewell my lady," from the subdued crowd. They had reached the storehouses when Azrûphel looked back and smiled. There was Balkazîr, standing among his fellows with a hand held high. He was waving.

"So," said Abrazân as they passed the cottages. "You made friendships with our sailors?"

"Do you see a problem in that?" answered Azrûphel with a rising irritation. She was gearing herself up for the inevitable confrontation with her mother, but did not expect a fight with Abrazân too. He however, saw the darkening of her face and knew what to expect if he pressed the issue further.

"Nay, I see no problem," he lied. "But there are others who might."

"Then let the Narûphel's and Adûninzil's of this world fret and foam at the mouth," she returned. "But I care not. They are my friends whom I shall see when I please."

They walked the rest of the way in silence until they came to the fountains. There were more guests strolling about the garden, but the captain and his lieutenant were nowhere to be seen. However, standing by the main doorway was Azulzîr her father.

"Azrûphel!" he cried as he came forward. "Where did you go, you worrisome child?" He held her close for a relieved moment, yet presently felt something was amiss. His daughter did not return his embrace. He let her go and looked closely at her. "Are you all right my dear?" he asked with renewed concern.

"I am," said Azrûphel, turning aside her eyes from his gaze. "Yet I am weary and would retire by your leave."

"But the feasting is in your honour," countered her father. "Would you leave your guests so early?"

"I would," Azrûphel replied. "For if I should stay I would not be of much company to anyone." Azulzîr scratched his chin thoughtfully. "The weariness of a long voyage is to blame," she added as an afterthought.

Azulzîr looked at his daughter with a penetrating eye. It were plain she was hiding something. "Very well," he finally conceded. "Though many who hoped for an audience shall be disappointed."

Azrûphel almost rolled her eyes, for it were plain her father spoke of opportuning suitors. "Thank you father," she said with an abrupt curtsy. And swiftly she was away, entering the house, pushing past and ignoring hails from guests and dashing up the stairway. She came to pause before her bedroom door, listening to the lively sounds from below. A wave of guilt passed through her. Such joy at the expense of such woe. She shook her head sorrowfully at the taint of her people. The taint of her beloved father. Nay, she willed the painful thought away as she could not yet face it. She then entered her room and with a sigh, threw herself upon her soft bed and stared blankly at the ceiling.

"So, did you find enjoyment in their company?" asked a voice.

Azrûphel's heart jumped as her insides coiled and swirled in a dance of nerves. She sat up and looked to the balcony. There was Narûphel, watching her with glinting eyes. The moonlight seemed to pale her smooth skin as her long hair strayed their wavy strands in the night breeze. Azrûphel thought she looked like a wraith. "I did," she replied. She could not be bothered to lie.

"You worried your father and brother."

"And you?"

"I had a fair idea of where you were. I knew you would flout me sooner or later."

"Well I am back and I am weary," returned Azrûphel as she lay back upon her bed. "I do not wish to fight."

Narûphel came forward to stand by her bedside. Azrûphel turned her eyes to her mother and they widened with surprise. Narûphel looked down upon her daughter with a gentle smile! "I came not to fight but to thank you," she said. "You were such a delight to so many of our guests that they felt they could not sing enough praises to your charm and grace. That you later sought out those uncouth sailors is pardonable. You behaved well enough tonight."

Azrûphel gaped her amazement. "So you are not angry with me?"

Narûphel laughed pleasantly. "Let us place that anger on hold. I am sure you shall find ways to set it loose tomorrow." She then bent and kissed her daughter's brow. "Rest easy," she said softly. She then went to the door.

"Mother!" called her daughter. Narûphel turned back. "Thank you," said Azrûphel. Her mother bowed and closed the door.

Soon Azrûphel lay under her scented sheets and warm blankets. She really was weary; wearied in body, mind and spirit. The hearty sounds from below came faintly from the balcony as her eyes grew heavy and she closed them. _"Rest easy,"_ came a vaguely familiar voice. Was that her father, or her mother? Nay, her mother never said that to her...wait... on the ship she had, or was it in her room? She was confused. But it mattered not, for a deep slumber now took hold; a darkness of forgetfulness. But wait! There were shifting images in the dark, coiling and shifting like smoke. And what was that? Trees, yes rows of trees and a fleeting scent of citrus. _I know this place._ "Turn back Azrûphel, return home!" came an echo of a voice she thought she knew. _Who calls?_ "Come away my lady!" The trees seemed to darken but there were dim shapes ahead, beckoning to her. She began to glide towards them. "Not that way!" called the faint voice, now almost a faded whisper. _Who calls?_ The beckoning shapes drew closer, but suddenly a black dread arose in her like a cloud. _Nay, I do not want to go forward. The eye, staring at me with such hatred and despair. Why? Please let me go back!_ Links of cold iron slithered about her body, enclosing her in chains that tightened their grip in an icy embrace of terror. And invisible shackles clamped about her wrists and ankles, restraining her as the eye grew, filling all her sight with its hateful glare. _I cannot endure it! I want to be free! LET ME WAKE!_

Azrûphel shot up from where she lay, and sat for a moment gasping for air. Slowly the dread dissipated from memory, though the nightmarish visions did not. She thrust aside the covers and sheets and sat upon the bedside with her bowed head held in her hands. She breathed deeply, in and out in an effort to calm herself and cure the infection of horror that still lingered. Slowly, her mind cleared and the evil visions faded. Azrûphel then sat up and listened. All was quiet and still. She sighed her relief that she had not woken the house by screaming in her sleep. She then got up and went out onto the balcony.

The night was old for the moon had sunk, leaving the stars to twinkle brightly in the night sky. The garden was dark and all was silent, save the fall of cascading water in the fountains. The feast apparently had long ended. Certain events of that night came back to her, the lewd guests, the disastrous meeting with Avalozîr, Abrazân's friend, the interesting encounter with the young lieutenant, the joyful reunion with Balkazîr and...her first true experience with the horrors of slavery. Her eyes now turned to the orchards that had haunted her awake. She closed her eyes and pictured the maimed man in shackles. A feeling awoke then from deep within. A bold new purpose, and a new hatred of her own. She stood long upon the balcony in deep thought as the old night wore on, until she finally turned away and headed back to her bed where she lay herself down to sleep. But she did not fear the return of her nightmares. She knew they would not bother her again. And so she slept, to misty visions of iron shackles and snaking chains. But one thing was different. They were all broken.

* * *

><span>Author's Commentary:<span>

Hie there. It's been a very long wait and for that I'm sorry. But I have to admit that I had abandoned this story.  
>I don't know if anyone is still even interested in this tale, but I hope there are still a few who are.<p>

Anyway as always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Comments are most welcome.

Thanx!


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